UC-NRLF 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH 


BY 


WILLIAM     BLACK, 

AUTHOR  OF 

THULE,"  "  STRANGE  ADVENTURES 
SHANDON  BELLS,"  "MACLEOD  OF  DARE,"  ETC.,  ETC. 


AUTHOR   OF 

'A  PRINCESS  OF  THULE,"  "STRANGE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  PHAETON, 


NEW  YORK: 

JOHN   W.  LOVELL   COMPANY, 
14  AND  1 6  VESEY  STREET. 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 


CHAPTER  I. 

COQUETTE'S  ARRIVAL. 

THE  tide  of  battle  had  flowed  onward  from  the  vil- 
lage to  the  Manse.  The  retreating  party,  consisting  of 
the  Minister's  five  sons,  were  driven  back  by  fair  force  of 
numbers,  contesting  every  inch  of  the  ground.  Hope 
had  deserted  them  ;  and  there  now  remained  but  one 
chance — to  reach  the  fortress  of  the  Manse  in  safety, 
and  seek  the  shelter  of  its  great  stone  wall. 

The  enemy  numbered  over  a  dozen,  and  the  clangor 
and  clamor  of  the  pursuit  waxed  stronger  as  they  pressed 
on  the  small  and  compact  body  of  five.  The  weapons 
on  both  sides  were  stones  picked  up  from  the  moorland 
road  :  and  the  terrible  aim  of  the  Whaup* — the  eldest 
of  the  Minister's  sons — had  disfigured  more  than  one 
mother's  son  of  the  turbulent  crowd  that  pursued.  He 
alone — a  long-legged  Herculean  lad  of  eighteen — kept 
in  front  of  his  retreating  brothers,  facing  the  foe  boldly, 
and  directing  his  swift,  successive  discharges  with  a 
deadly  accuracy  of  curve  upon  the  noses  of  the  fore- 
most. But  his  valor  was  of  no  avail.  All  seemed  over. 

*Anglice,  the  Lapwing  or  Green  Plover,  a  wild  and  shy  bird,  loving  up- 
lying  lands  near  the  sea. 


f  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

Their  courage  began  to  partake  of  the  recklessness  of 
despair.  Nature  looked  as  though  she  sympathized  with 
this  disastrous  fate  j  and  to  the  excited  eyes  of  the  fugi- 
tives', i't  appeaYeck  'tjKat-  the  sun  was  overcast — that  the 
moor  arqund.was  blacker  and  more  silent  than  ever — 
•and -thafc<he  foir^ stretch*  of  the  sea,  with  the  gloomy 
Kills  of  Arran,  had  grown  dark  as  with  a  coming  storm. 
Thus  does  the  human  mind  confer  an  anthropomorphic 
sentiment  on  all  things,  animate  and  inanimate ;  a  pro- 
found observation  which  occurred  to  Mr.  ^Eneas  Gilles- 
pie,  the  schoolmaster,  who,  being  on  one  occasion  in  the 
town  of  Ayr,  when  horse-racing  or  s  ome  such  godless 
diversion  was  going  forward,  and  having  meekly  inquired 
for  some  boiled  eggs  in  a  very  small  and  crowded  hos- 
telry, the  young  woman  in  charge  indignantly  exclaimed 
"  Losh  bless  me  !  Do  you  think  the  hens  can  remem- 
ber to  lay  eggs  in  all  this  bustle  and  hurry  ? " 

Finally,  the  retreating  party  turned  and  ran — igno- 
miniously,  pell-mell — until  they  had  gained  the  high 
stone  wall  surrounding  the  Manse.  They  darted  into 
the  garden,  slammed  the  door  to,  and  barricaded  it ;  the 
Whaup  sending  up  a  peal  of  defiant  laughter  that  made 
the  solemn  echoes  of  the  old-fashioned  house  ring  again. 
Outside  this  shriek  of  joy  was  taken  as  a  challenge,  and 
the  party  on  the  other  side  of  the  wall  returned  a  roar 
of  mingled  mockery  and  anger  which  was  not  pleasant 
to  hear.  It  meant  a  blockade  and  bombardment,  with 
perhaps  a  fierce  assault  when  the  patience  of  the  be- 
seigers  should  give  way.  But  the  Whaup  was  not  of  a 
kind  to  indulge  in  indolent  security  when  his  enemies 
were  murmuring  hard  by.  In  an  incredibly  short  space 
of  time  he  and  his  brothers  had  wheeled  up  to  the  wall 
a  couple  of  empty  barrels,  and  across  these  was  hurriedly 
thrown  a  broad  plank.  The  Whaup  filled  his  hands  with 
the  gravel  of  the  garden  walk,  and  jumped  up  on  the 
board.  The  instant  that  his  head  appeared  above  the 
wall  there  was  a  yell  of  execration.  He  had  just  time 
to  discharge  his  two  handfuls  of  gravel  upon  the  be- 
siegers, when  a  shower  of  stones  was  directed  at  him, 
and  he  ducked  his  head. 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  ITE TIT.  3 

"  This  is  famous  !  "  he  cried.  "  This  is  grand  !  It 
beats  Josephus  !  Mair  gravel,  Jock — mair  gravel,  Jock ! " 

Now  in  the  Manse  of  Airlie  there  was  an  edition  of 
Josephus's  works,  in  several  volumes,  which  was  the 
only  profane  reading  allowed  to  the  boys  on  Sunday. 
Consequently  it  was  much  studied — especially  the  plates 
of  it ;  and  one  of  these  plates  represented  the  siege  of 
Jerusalem,  with  the  Romans  being  killed  by  stones  thrown 
from  the  wall.  No  sooner,  therefore  had  the  Whaup  mount- 
ed on  the  empty  barrels,  than  his  brothers  recognized  the 
position.  They  were  called  upon  to  engage  in  a  species 
of  warfare  familiar  to  them.  They  swiftly  formed  them- 
selves into  line,  and  handed  up  to  the  Whaup  successive 
supplies  of  stones  and  gravel,  with  a  precision  they  could 
not  have  exceeded  had  they  actually  served  in  one  of 
the  legions  of  Titus. 

The  Whaup,  however,  dared  not  discharge  his  ammu- 
nition with  regularity.  He  had  to  descend  to  feints  ;  for 
he  was  in  a  most  perilous  position,  and  might  at  any 
time  have  had  his  head  rendered  amorphous.  He  there- 
fore from  time  to  time  showed  his  hand  over  the  wall ; 
the  expected  volley  of  stones  followed,  and  then  he  sprang 
up  to  return  the  compliment  with  all  his  might.  Howls 
of  rage  greeted  each  of  his  efforts  ;  and,  indeed,  the 
clangor  rose  to  an  extraordinary  pitch.  The  besiegers 
were  furious.  They  were  in  an  open  position,  while  their 
foe  was  well  intrenched  ;  and  no  man  or  boy  can  get  a 
handful  of  gravel  pitched  into  his  face  and  also  preserve 
his  temper.  Revenge  was  out  of  the  question.  The 
sagacious  Whaup  never  appeared  when  they  expected 
him ;  and  when  he  did  appear,  it  was  an  instantaneous 
up  and  down,  giving  them  no  chance  at  all  of  doing  him 
an  injury.  They  raved  and  stormed,  and  the  more 
bitterly  they  shouted  names  at  him,  and  the  more  fiercely 
they  heaped  insults  upon  him,  the  more  joyously  he 
laughed.  The  noise,  without  and  within,  was  appalling  ; 
never,  in  the  memory  of  man,  had  such  an  uproar  re- 
sounded around  the  quiet  Manse  of  Airlie. 

Suddenly  there  was  a  scared  silence  within  the  walls, 


4  .    A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

and  a  rapid  disappearance  of  the  younger  of  the  be- 
seiged. 

"  Oh,  Tarn,  here's  our  faither  ! ''  cried  one. 

But  Tarn — elsewhere  named  the  Whaup — was  too 
excited  to  hear.  He  was  shouting  and  laughing,  hurlmg 
gravel  and  stones  at  his  enemies,  when, — 

When  a  tall,  stern-faced,  gray-haired  man,  who  wore 
a  rusty  black  coat  and  a  white  neckcloth,  and  who  bore 
in  his  hand,  ominously,  a  horsewhip,  walked  firmly  and 
sedately  across  the  garden.  The  hero  of  the  day  was 
still  on  the  barrels,  taunting  his  foes,  and  helping  him- 
self to  the  store  of  ammunition  which  his  colleagues  had 
piled  upon  the  plank. 

"  Who's  lang-leggit  now  ?  Where  are  the  Minister's 
chickens  now  ?  Why  don't  you  go  and  wash  your  noses 
in  the  burn  ?  " 

The  next  moment  the  Whaup  uttered  what  can  only 
be  described  as  a  squeal.  He  had  not  been  expecting 
an  attack  from  the  rear  ;  and  there  was  fright  as  well 
as  pain  in  the  yell  which  followed  the  startling  cut 
across  the  legs  which  brought  him  down.  In  fact,  the 
lithe  curl  of  the  whip  around  his  calves  was  at  once  a 
mystery  and  a  horror,  and  he  tumbled  rather  than  jumped 
from  the  plank,  only  to  find  himself  confronted  by  his 
father,  whose  threatening  eye  and  terrible  voice  soon 
explained  the  mystery. 

"  How  daur  ye,  sir,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Cassilis— "  how 
daur  ye,  sir,  transform  my  house  into  a  Bedlam  !  For 
shame,  sir,  that  your  years  have  brought  ye  no  more 
sense  than  to  caper  wi'  a  lot  of  schoolboys.  Have  ye  no 
more  respect  for  yourself — have  ye  no  respect  for  the 
college  you  have  come  home  from — than  to  behave  your 
self  like  a  farm -Gallant,  and  make  yourself  the  by  word  of 
the  neighborhood  ?  You  are  worse  than  the  youngest 
in  the  house — " 

"  I  didn't  know  you  were  in  the '  Manse,"  said  the 
Whaup,  wondering  whither  his  brothers  had  run. 

"  So  much  the  worse — so  much  the  worse,"  said  the 
Minister,  severely,  "  that  ye  have  no  better  guide  to  your 
conduct  than  the  fear  o'  being  caught.  Why,  sir,  when 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH.  5 

I  was  your  age  I  was  busier  with  my  Greek  Testament 
than  with  flinging  names  at  a  wheen  laddies  ! " 

"  It  was  mair  than  names,  as  ye  might  hae  observed 
from  their  noses,  had  ye  seen  them,"  remarked  the 
Whaup,  confidentially. 

Indeed,  he  was  incorrigible,  and  the  Minister  turned 
away.  His  eldest  son  had  plenty  of  brains,  plenty  of 
courage,  and  an  excellent  physique  ;  but  he  could  not  be 
brought  to  acquire  a  sense  of  the  proper  gravity  or  duties 
of  manhood,  nor  yet  could  he  be  prevailed  on  to  lay 
aside  the  mischievous  tricks  of  his  youth.  He  was  the 
terror  of  the  parish.  It  was  hoped  that  a  winter  at 
Glasgow  University  would  tame  down  the  Whaup  ;  but 
he  returned  to  Airlie  worse  than  ever,  and  formed  his 
innocent  brothers  into  a  regular  band  of  marauders,  of 
whom  all  honest  people  were  afraid.  The  long-legged 
dare-devil  of  the  Manse,  with  his  boldness,  his  cunning 
and  his  agility,  left  neither  garden  nor  farmyard  nor 
kitchen  alone.  Worthy  villagers  were  tripped  up  by 
bits  of  invisible  twine.  Mysterious  knocks  on  the  win- 
dow woke  them  up  at  the  dead  of  night.  When  they 
were  surprised  that  the  patience  of  their  setting  hen  did 
not  meet  with  its  usual  reward,  they  found  that  chalk 
eggs  had  been  substituted  for  the  natural  ones.  Their 
cats  came  home  with  walnut-shells  on  their  feet.  Stable 
doors  were  mysteriously  opened.  Furious  bulls  were 
found  lassoed,  so  that  no  man  dare  approach  them.  The 
work  of  the  Whaup  was  everywhere  evident — it  was 
always  the  Whaup.  And  then  that  young  gentleman 
would  come  quietly  into  the  villagers'  houses,  and  chat 
confidentially  with  them,  and  confide  to  them  his  great 
grief  that  his  younger  brother  Wattie— notwithstanding 
that  people  thought  him  a  quiet,  harmless,  pious,  and 
rather  sneaking  boy — was  such  a  desperate  tiand  for 
mischief.  Some  believed  him  ;  others  reproached  him 
for  his  wickedness  in  blaming  his  own  sins  upon  the  only 
one  of  the  Minister's  family  who  had  an  appearance  of 
Christian  humility  and  grace. 

When  the  Minister  had  gone  into  the  house,  the 
Whaup — in  nowise  downcast  by  his  recent  misfortune, 


6  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

although  he  still  was  aware  of  an  odd  sensation  about 
the  legs — mounted  once  more  upon  the  barrels  to  re- 
connoitre the  enemy.  He  had  no  wish  to  renew  the 
fight,  for  Saturday  was  his  father's  day  for  study  and 
meditation  ;  no  stir  or  sound  was  allowed  in  the  place 
from  morning  till  night ;  and  certainly,  had  the  young 
gentlemen  of  the  Manse  known  that  their  father  was 
indoors,  they  would  have  let  the  village  boys  rave  out- 
side in  safety,  Cool  and  confident  as  he  was,  the 
Whaup  did  not  care  to  bring  his  father  out  a  second 
time ;  and  so  he  got  up  on  the  barricades  merely  for  the 
sake  of  information. 

The  turmoil  outside  had  quieted  down,  partly  through 
the  ignominious  silence  of  the  besieged,  and  partly 
through  the  appearance  of  a  new  object  of  public  at- 
tention. The  heads  of  the  dozen  lads  outside  were  now 
turned  towards  the  village,  whence  there  was  coming 
along  the  road  the  Minister's  dog-cart,  driven  by  his  an- 
cient henchman,  Andrew  Bogue.  Beside  the  driver 
sat  some  fair  creature  in  fluttering  white  and  blue — an 
apparition  that  seldom  met  the  vision  of  the  inhabitants 
of  Airlie.  The  Whaup  knew  that  this  young  lady  was 
his  cousin  from  France,  who  was  now,  being  an  orphan, 
and  having  completed  her  education,  coming  to  live  at 
the  Manse.  But  who  was  the  gentleman  behind,  who 
sat  with  his  arm  flung  carelessly  over  the  bar,  while  he 
smiled  and  chatted  to  the  girl,  who  had  half  turned 
around  to  listen  to  him  ? 

"  Why,  it  is  Lord  Earlshope,"  said  the  Whaup,  with 
his  handsome  face  suddenly  assuming  a  frown.  "  What 
business  has  Earlshope  to  talk  to  my  cousin  ?" 

Presently  the  gentleman  let  himself  down  from  the. 
dog-cart,  took  off  his  hat  to  her  who  had  been  his  com- 
panion, and  turned  and  went  along  the  road  again.  The. 
dog-cart  drove  up  to  the  door.  The  Whaup,  daring  his 
enemies  to  touch  him,  went  out  boldly,  and  proceeded 
to  welcome  the  new-comer  to  Airlie. 

"  I  suppose  you  are  my  cousin,"  he  said, 

"  I  suppose  I  am,"  said  the  young  girl,  speaking 
with  an  accent  so  markedly  French  that  he  looked  at 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH.  7 

her  in  astonishment.  But  then  she,  in  turn,  regarded 
him  for  a  moment  with  a  pair  of  soft  dark  eyes,  and  he 
forgot  her  accent.  He  vaguely  knew  that  she  had 
smiled  to  him — and  that  the  effect  of  looking  at  her 
eyes  was  rather  bewildering — as  he  assisted  her  down 
from  the  dog-cart,  and  begged  her  to  come  in  through 
the  garden. 


CHAPTER  II. 

COQUETTE'S  RELIGION. 

THE  Whaup  was  at  once  convinced  that  he  had 
never  seen  upon  earth,  nor  yet  in  his  Sunday  morning 
dreams  of  what  heaven  might  be  like,  any  creature  half 
so  beautiful  and  bewitching  and  graceful  as  the  young 
girl  who  now  walked  beside  him.  Yet  he  could  not 
tell  in  what  lay  her  especial  charm  ;  for,  regarding  her 
with  the  eye  of  a  critic,  the  Whaup  observed  that  she 
was  full  of  defects.  Her  face  was  pale  and  French 
looking ;  and,  instead  of  the  rosy  bloom  of  a  pretty 
country  lass,  there  was  a  tinge  of  southern  sun-brown 
over  her  complexion.  Then  her  hair  was  in  obvious 
disorder — some  ragged  ends  of  silky  brown  being  scat- 
tered over  her  forehead,  and  surmounted,  in  Sir  Peter 
Lely  fashion,  by  a  piece  of  dark  blue  silk  ribbon  ;  while 
there  were  big  masses  behind  that  only  partially  revealed 
a  shapely  sunburnt  neck.  Then  her  eyes,  though  they 
were  dark  and  expressive,  had  nothing  of  the  keen  and 
merry  look  of  your  bouncing  country  belle.  Nor  was 
there  anything  majestic  in  her  appearance;  although, 
to  be  sure,  she  walked  with  an  ease  and  grace  which 
gave  even  to  an  observer  a  sense  of  suppleness  and 
pleasure.  Certainly  it  was  not  her  voice  which  had 
captivated  him,  for  when  he  at  first  heard  her  absurd 
accent  he  had  nearly  burst  out  laughing.  Not  with- 


8  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

standing  all  which,  when  she  turned  the  pale,  pretty, 
foreign  face  to  him,  and  said,  with  a  smile  that  lit  up 
the  dark  eyes  and  showed  a  glimpse  of  pearly  teeth, 
''It,  rains  not  always  in  your  country,  then  ?  "he  re- 
marked no  stiffness  in  her  speech,  but  thought  she  spoke 
in  music.  He  could  scarcely  answer  her.  He  had  al- 
ready succumbed  to  the  spell  of  the  soft  eyes  and  the 
winning  voice  that  had  earned  for  this  young  lady,  when 
she  was  but  four  years  of  age,  the  unfair  name  of  Co- 
quette. 

"Do  you  know  Lord  Earleshope  ?"  he  said  abruptly. 

She  turned  to  him  with  a  brief  glance  of  surprise. 
It  seemed  to  him  that  every  alteration  in  her  manner — 
and  every  new  position  of  her  figure — was  an  improve- 
ment. 

"  That  gentleman  who  did  come  with  us  ?  No  ;  I  do 
not  know  him." 

"  You  were  talking  to  him  as  if  you  did  know  him 
very  well,"  said  the  Whaup,  sternly.  He  was  beginning 
to  suspect  this  cousin  of  his  of  being  a  deceitful  young- 
person. 

"  I  had  great  pleasure  of  speaking  to  him.  He  speaks 
French — he  is  very  agreeable." 

"  Look  here,"  said  the  Whaup,  with  a  sudden  knit- 
ting of  his  brow,  "  I  won't  have  you  talk  to  Earlshope, 
if  you  live  in  this  house.  Now,  mind  !  " 

"  What !  "  she  cried,  with  a  look  of  amused  wonder  ; 
"  I  do  think  you  are  jealous  of  me  already.  You  will 
make  me — what  is  it  called  ?  vaniteuse.  Is  it  not  a 
lark  ! " 

She  smiled  as  she  looked  with  rather  a  surprised  air 
at  her  new  cousin.  The  Whaup  began  to  recall  German 
legends  of  the  devil  appearing  in  the  shape  of  a  beautiful 
woman. 

"  Ladies  in  this  country  don't  use  expressions  like  that," 
said  he  ;  adding  scornfully,  "  If  that  is  a  French  custom, 
you'd  better  forget  it." 

"  Is  it  not  right  to  say  '  a  lark  ?'  "  she  asked  gravely. 
"  Papa  used  to  say  that,  and  mamma  and  I  got  much  of 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  UETH.  g 

our  English  from  him.  I  will  not  say  it  again,  if  you 
wish." 

"  Did  you  call  it  English  ? "  said  the  Whaup,  with 
some  contempt. 

At  this  moment  the  Minister  came  out  from  the  door 
of  the  Manse,  and  approached  his  niece.  She  ran  to  him, 
took  both  his  hands  in  hers,  and  then  suddenly,  and  some- 
what to  his  discomfiture,  kissed  him  ;  while  in  the  excite- 
ment of  the  moment  she  forgot  to  speak  her  broken 
English,  and  showered  upon  him  a  series  of  pretty  phrases 
and  questions  in  French. 

"  Dear  me !  "  he  observed,  in  a  bewildered  way. 

"  She  is  a  witch,"  said  the  .  Whaup  to  himself,  stand- 
ing by,  and  observing  with  an  angry  satisfaction  that 
this  incomprehensible  foreigner,  no  matter  what  she  did 
or  said,  was  momentarily  growing  more  graceful.  The 
charm  of  her  appearance  increased  with  every  new  look 
of  her  face,  with  every  new  gesture  of  her  head.  And 
then — when  she  seemed  to  perceive  that  her  uncle  had 
not  understood  a  word  of  her  tirade — and  when,  with  a 
laugh  and  blush,  she  threw  out  her  pretty  hands  in  a 
dramatic  way,  and  gave  ever  so  slight  a  shrug  with  her 
shoulders — the  picture  of  her  confusion  and  embarrass- 
ment was  perfect. 

"  Oh,  she  is  an  actress — I  hate  actresses  !  "  said  the 
Whaup. 

Meanwhile  his  cousin  recovered  herself  and  began  to 
translate  into  stiff  and  curious  English  ( watching  her 
pronunciation  carefully )  the  rapid  French  she  had  been 
pouring  out.  But  her  uncle  interrupted  her,  and  said, — 

"  Come  into  the  house  first  my  bairn,  and  we  will  have 
the  story  of  your  journey  afterwards.  Dear  me,  I  began 
to  think  ye  could  speak  nothing  but  that  unintelligible 
Babel  o'  a  tongue." 

So  he  led  her  into  the  house,  the  Whaup  following ; 
and  Catherine  Cassilis,  whom  they  had  been  taught  by 
letter  to  call  Coquette,  looked  around  upon  her  new  home. 

She  was  the  only  daughter  of  the  Minister's  only  bro- 
ther a  young  man  who  had  left  Scotland  in  his  teens, 
and  never  returned.  He  had  been  such  another  as  the 


10  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

Whaup  in  his  youth,  only  that  his  outrages  upon  the  de 
corum  of  his  native  village  had  been  of  a  somewhat  more 
serious  kind.     His  family  were  very  glad  when  he  went 
abroad  ;  and  when  they  did  subsequently  hear  of  him, 
they  heard  no  good.     Indeed,  a  very  moderate  amount 
of  wildishness  became  something  terrible  when  rumored 
through  the  quiet  of  Airlie  ;  and  the  younger  Cassilis 
was  looked  on  as  the  prodigal  son,  whom  no  one  was  an- 
xious should  return.     At  length  the  news  came  that 
he   had    married  some  foreign  woman — and  this  put  a 
climax  to  his  wickedness.     It  is  true  that  the  captain  of 
a  Greenock  ship,  having  been  at  St.   Nazaire,  had  there 
met  Mr.  Cassilis,  who  had  taken  his  countryman  home 
to  his  house,  some  few  milles  farther  along  the  banks  of 
the  Loire.    The  captain  carried  to  Greenock  and  to  Airlie 
the  news  that  the  Minister's  brother  was  the  most  fortu- 
nate of  men.     The  French  lady  he  had  married  was  of 
the  most  gracious  temperament  and  had  the  sweetest 
looks.     She  had  brought  her  husband  a  fine  estate  on  the 
Loire,  where  he  lived  like  a  foreign  prince,  not  like  the 
brother  of  a  parish  minister.     They  had  a  daughter — an 
elf,  a  fairy,  with   dark  eyes  and   witching  ways — who 
lisped  French  with  the  greatest  ease  in  the  world.     Old 
Gavin  Cassilis,  the  minister,  heard,  and  was  secretly  re- 
joiced.    He  corresponded,  in  his  grave  and  formal  fash- 
ion, with  his  brother ;  but  he  would  not  undertake  a  voy- 
age to  a  country  that  had  abandoned  itself  to  infidelity. 
The  Minister  knew  no  France   but  the  France  of  the 
Revolution    time  ;  and  so   powerfully  had   he   been  im- 
pressed in  his  youth  by  the  stories  of  the  worship  of  the 
Goddess  of  Reason,  that,  while  the  ancient  languages 
were  as  familiar  to  him  as  his  own,  while  he  knew  enough 
of  Italian  to  read  the  "  Inferno,"  and  had  mastered  even 
the  technicalities  of  the  German  theologians,  nothing 
•would  ever  induce  him  to  study  French,     It  was  a  lan- 
guage abhorred — it  had  lent  itself  to  the  most  monstrous 
apostasy  of  recent  times. 

The  mother  and  father  of  Coquette  died  within  a  few 
hours  of  each  other,  cut  off  by  a  fever  which  was  raging 
over  the  south  of  France ;  and  the  girl,  according  to 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH.  sl 

their  wish,  was  sent  to  a  school  in  the  neighborhood, 
where  she  remained  until  she  was  eighteen.  She  was 
then  transferred  to  the  care  of  her  only  living  relative — 
Mr.  Gavin  Cassilis,  the  parish  minister  of  Airlie.  She 
had  never  seen  anything  of  Scotland  or  of  her  Scotch 
relations.  The  life  that  awaited  her  was  quite  unknown 
to  her.  She  had  no  dread  of  the  possible  consequences 
of  removing  her  thoroughly  southern  nature  into  the 
chillier  social  atmosphere  of  the  north.  So  far,  indeed, 
her  journey  had  been  a  pleasant  one  ;  and  she  saw  noth- 
ing to  make  her  apprehensive  of  the  future.  She  had 
been  met  at  the  railway  station  by  the  Minister's  man, 
Andrew ;  but  she  had  no  opportunity  of  noticing  his 
more  than  gloomy  temperament,  or  the  scant  civility  he 
was  inclined  to  bestow  on  a  foreign  jade  who  was  dressed 
so  that  all  the  men  turned  and  looked  at  her  as  though 
she  had  been  a  snare  of  Satan.  For  they  had  scarcely 
left  the  station,  and  were  making  their  way  upward  to 
the  higher  country,  when  they  overtook  Lord  Earlshope, 
who  was  riding  leisurely  along.  Andrew — much  as  he 
contemned  the  young  nobleman,  who  had  not  the  best  of 
reputations  in  the  district — touched  his  cap,  as  in  duty 
bound.  His  lordship  glanced  with  a  look  of  surprise 
and  involuntary  admiration  at  the  young  lady  who  sat  on 
the  dog-cart ;  and  then  rode  forward,  and  said, — 

"  May  I  have  the  pleasure  of  introducing  myself  to 
Mr.  Cassilis's  niece  ?  I  hope  I  am  not  mistaken." 

With  a  frankness  which  appalled  Andrew — who  con- 
sidered this  boldness  on  the  part  of  an  unmarried  wo- 
man to  be  indicative  of  the  licentiousness  of  French 
manners,  whereas  it  was  but  the  natural  expression  of 
that  happy  and  audacious  freedom  from  restraint  which 
the  girl  was  now  glad  to  experience— the  young  lady  re- 
plied ;  and  in  a  few  minutes  Lord  Earlshope  had  suc- 
ceeded in  drawing  her  into  a  pleasant  conversation  in 
her  own  tongue.  Nay,  when  they  had  reached  Earlshope 
nothing  would  do  for  the  fair-haired  young  gentleman 
but  that  Miss  Cassilis  must  enter  the  gate  and  drive 
through  the  park,  which  ran  parallel  with  the  road.  He 
himself  was  forced  to  leave  his  horse  with  the  lodge- 


^V.IV.T;:  v.:>  :'v    jv.ll  .   N.',:.  \\-.'.h  a    OMTOCSS   .;PO<O;;V  aini  A 

\V;i;;>.  !n'  !\^;  ;r.ir;\\;  iVi  '. ''' .c  S.s-.\  v.r.  '.  'n\\;m:.  ami  l^c^^Ovl 

. 
.     .    . 

... 

.        . 

. 


•..  .     .  .  •    ,  .  . 

•Hn  Sodom  md  Grwnwr;  .he  was 

she  was  a'  smiles;  md  tbey  MXJMK!  to  think 

.     •  .    .  - 

•    .  .... 

—^A  clispv 

.  .  , 

...... 

. 

.   . 
. 
.     . 

, 
.  -     . 

. 
.          >  .       . 

.       ! 


her  ni 


A  DAUGllTl.R  01'  //A/7/.  ,3 

tiling  sliorl  of  license  ;  and  his  "  dour  "  imagination  had 
already  perceived  in  her  sonic  stiaii",e  rr.srmbiancc  to 
the  Scarlet  Woman,  the  Mother  of  Abominations,  who 
sat  on  the  seven  hills  and  mocked  at.  the  saints.  Andiew 
was  a  n>orbid  and  morose  man,  of  Seeeder  descent  ;  and 
he  had  inherited  a  tinge  of  the  old  Cameronian  f«-elin;.';, 
not  often  n>el  with  nowadays.  lie-  fell  it  incumbent  on 
him  to  be  a  sort  of  living  protest  in  the  Manse  against 
the  temporizing  and  feeble  condition  of  thrologn  ,d 
opinion  he  found  there.  He  looked  upon  Mr.  ( !a:;:;ilis 
as  little  else  than  a  "  Moderate,  "  and  even  made  bold, 
upon  rare  occasions,  to  confront  the  Minister  himself. 

"Andrew,"  said  Mr.  Cassilis  one  day,  "you  are  a  re- 
bellions servant,  and  one  that  would  intemperately  dis- 
turb the  peace  o'  the  Church." 

"  In  nowise,  Minister,  in  nowise,"  retorted  Andrew, 
with  firmness.  "But  in  maittcrs  spiritual  1  Will  yield 
obedience  to  no  man.  There  is  but  one  King  in  Sion, 
sir,  for  a'  that  a  dominant  and  Erastian  Estayblishment 
may  say." 

"  Toots,  toots,"  said  the  Minister,  testily.  "  Let  the 
Establishment  alone,  Andrew.  It  docs  more  good  than 
harm,  surely." 

"  Maybe,  maybe,"  replied  Andrew  (with  an  uncom- 
fortable feeling  that  the  Establishment  had  supplied  him 
with  the  carnal  advantages  of  a  good  situation)  ;  "but  I 
am  not  wan  that  would  rub  out  the  ancient  landmarks 
o'  the  faith  which  our  fathers  suffered  for,  and  starved 
for,  and  bled  for.  The  aukKrcligion  ks  dying  out  owre 
fast  as  it  is,  but  there  is  still  a  remnant  o'  Jacob  among 
the  Gentiles,  and  they  are  not  a'  like  Nicodemu.>,  that 
was  ashamed  o'  the  truth  that  was  in  him,  and  bided  until 
the  nicht." 

It  was  well,  therefore,  that  this  fearless  denouncer 
did  not  hear  the  following  conversation  which  took  place 
between  the  Minister  and  his  niece.  The  latter  had  been 
conducted  by  Leczibeth  to  see  the  rooms  prepared  for 
her.  With  these  she  was  highly  delighted.  A  large 
chamber,  which  had  served  as  a  dormitory  for  the  boys, 
was  now  transformed  into  a  sitting-room  for  her,  and 


14  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

the  boys'  beds  had  been  carried  into  a  neighboring  hay 
loft,  which  had  cleared  out  for  the  purpose.  In  this  sit- 
ting-room she  found  her  piano,  which  had  been  sent  on 
some  days  before,  and  a  number  of  other  treasures  from 
her  southern  home.  There  were  two  small  square 
windows  in  the  room,  and  they  looked  over  the  garden, 
with  its  moss-grown  wall,  and  beyond  that  over  a  corner 
of  Airlie  moor,  and  beyond  that  again  over  the  sloping 
and  wooded  country  which  stretched  away  downward  to 
the  western  coast.  A  faint  gray  breadth  of  sea  was 
visible  there,  and  the  island  of  Arran,  with  its  peaked 
mountains  grown  a  pale,  transparent  blue,  lay  along  the 
horizon. 

"  Ye  might  hae  left  that  music-box  in  France,"  said 
Leezibeth.  "  It's  better  fitted  for  there  than  here." 

"  I  could  not  live  without  it,"  said  Coquette,  with 
some  wonder. 

"  Then  I'd  advise  ye  no  to  open  it  to-day,  which  is  a 
day  o'  preparation  for  the  solemn  services  o'  the  Sabbath. 
The  denner  is  on  the  table,  miss." 

The  young  lady  went  downstairs  and  took  her  place 
at  the  table,  all  the  boys  staring  at  her  with  open  mouth 
and  eyes.  It  was  during  her  talk  with  the  Minister  that 
she  casually  made  a  remark  about  "  the  last  time  she 
had  gone  to  mass." 

Consternation  sat  upon  every  face.  Even  the  Mini- 
ster looked  deeply  shocked,  and  asked  her  if  she  had 
been  brought  up  a  Roman. 

"  A  Catholic  ?  Yes,"  said  Coquette,  simply,  and  yet 
looking  strangely  at  the  faces  of  the  boys.  They  had 
never  before  had  a  Catholic  come  among  them  unawares. 

"  I  am  deeply  grieved  and  pained,"  said  the  Minister, 
gravely.  "  I  knew  not  that  my  brother  had  been  a  per- 
vert from  the  communion  of  our  Church — " 

"  Papa  was  not  a  Catholic/'  said  Coquette.  "  Mamma 
and  I  were.  But  it  matters  nothing.  I  will  go  to  your 
church — it  is  the  same  to  me." 

"  But,"  said  the  Minister,  in  amazement  and  horror, 
"  it  is  worse  that  you  should  be  so  indifferent  than  that 


A  DA  UGHTER  OF  HE  TH.  j  5 

you  should  be  a  Catholic.  Have  you  never  been  in- 
structed as  to  the  all-importance  of  your  religious  faith  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know  much — but  I  will  learn,  if  you 
please,"  she  said.  "  I  have  only  tried  to  be  kind  to  the 
people  around  me — that  is  all.  I  will  learn  if  you  will 
teach  me.  I  will  be  what  you  like." 

"  Her  ignorance  is  lamentable,  "  muttered  the  Minister 
to  himself  ;  and  the  boys  looked  at  her  askance  and  with 
fear.  Perhaps  she  was  a  secret  friend  and  ally  of  the  Pope 
himself. 

But  the  Whatip,  who  had  been  inclined  to  show 
an  independent  contempt  for  his  new  cousin,  no  sooner 
saw  her  get  into  trouble  than  he  startled  everybody  by  ex- 
claiming warmly,  — 

"  She  has  got  the  best  part  of  all  religions,  if  she  does 
her  best  to  the  people  around  her." 

"  Thomas, "  said  the  Minister,  severely,  "you  are  not 
competent  to  judge  of  these  things.  " 

But  Coquette  looked  at  the  lad,  and  saw  that  his  face 
was  burning,  and  she  thanked  him  with  her  expressive 
eyes.  Another  such  glance  would  have  made  the  Whaup 
forswear  his  belief  in  the  Gunpowder  Plot ;  and,  as  it  was, 
he  began  to  cherish  wild  notions  about  Roman  Catholicism, 
That  was  the  first  result  of  Coquette's  arrival  at  Airlie. 


CHAPTER  III. 

A    PENITENT. 

WHEN,  on  the  Sunday  morning,  Coquette,  having  risen, 
dressed,  and  come  into  her  sitting-room,  went  foward  to 
one  of  the  small  windows,  she  uttered  a  cry  of  delight. 
She  had  no  idea  that  the  surroundings  of  her  new  home 
were  so  lovely.  Outside  the  bright  sunlight  of  the  morning 
fell  on  the  Minister's  garden  and  orchard — a  somewhat 
tangled  mass,  it  is  true,  of  flower-beds  and  roses  and 
apple-trees,  with  patches  of  cabbage,  pease,  and  other 


i6  A  DAUGHTER  OF  UETir. 

kitchen  stuff  filling  up  every  corner.  A  white  rose-tree 
nearly  covered  the  wall  of  the  Manse,  and  hung  its  leaves 
round  the  two  windows  ;  and  when  she  opened  one  of  these 
to  let  the  fresh  air  rush  in,  there  was  a  scent  of  roses 
that  filled  the  room  in  a  second. 

But  far  beyond  the  precincts  of  the  Manse  stretched 
a  great  landscape,  so  spacious,  so  varied,  that  her  eye  ran 
over  it  with  increasing  delight  and  wonder,  and  could  not 
tell  which  part  of  it  was  the  more  beautiful.  First,  the 
sea.  Just  over  the  mountains  of  the  distant  island  of 
Arran — a  spectral  blue  mass  lying  along  the  horizon — 
there  was  a  confusion  of  clouds  that  let  the  sunlight  fall 
down  on  the  plain  of  water  in  misty,  slanting  lines.  The 
sea  was  dark,  except  where  those  rays  smote  it  sharp  and 
clear,  glimmering  in  silver  ;  while  a  black  steamer  slowly 
crept  across  the  lanes  of  blinding  light,  a  mere  speck. 
Down  in  the  south  there  was  a  small  gray  cloud,  the  size 
of  a  man's  hand,  resting  on  the  water  ;  but  she  did  not 
know  that  that  was  the  rock  of  Ailsa.  Then,  nearer 
shore  the  white  waves  and  the  blue  sea  ran  into  two  long 
bays,  bordered  by  a  waste  of  ruddy  sand  ;  and  above  the 
largest  of  these  great  bays  she  saw  a  thin  line  of  dark 
houses  and  gleaming  slates,  stretching  from  the  old-world 
town  of  Saltcoats  up  to  its  more  modern  suburb  of 
Ardrossan,  where  a  small  fleet  of  coasting  vessels  rocked 
in  the  harbor.  So  near  were  these  houses  to  the  water 
that,  from  where  Coquette  stood,  they  seemed  a  black 
fringe  or  breastwork  to  the  land  ;  and  the  spire  of  Salt- 
coats  church,  rising  from  above  the  slates,  was  sharply 
defined  against  the  windy  plain  of  tumbling  waves. 

Then  inland.  Her  window  looked  south  ;  and  before 
her  stretched  the  fair  and  fertile  valleys  and  hills  of  Ayr- 
shire— undulating  squares  and  patches  of  yellow,  inter- 
sected by  dark  green  lines  of  copse  running  down  to  the 
sea.  The  red  flames  of  the  Stevenston  iron-works  flick- 
ered in  the  daylight ;  a  mist  of  blue  smoke  hung  over 
Irvine  and  Troon  ;  and,  had  her  eyes  known  whereto  look, 
she  might  have  caught  the  pale  gray  glimmer  of  the  houses 
of  Ayr.  As  the  white  clouds  sailed  across  the  sky,  blue 
shadows  crept  across  this  variegated  plain  beneath 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HE  TIT.  !7 

momentarily  changing  its  many  hues  and  colors ;  and 
while  some  dark  wood  would  suddenly  deepen  in  gloom, 
lo  !  beside  it  some  hitherto  unperceived  cornfield  would 
as  suddenly  burst  out  in  a  gleam  of  yellow,  burning  like 
gold  in  the  cleat  light. 

So  still  it  was  on  this  quiet  Sunday  morning  that  she 
could  hear  the  4'  click  "  of  a  grasshopper  on  the  warm 
gravel  outside,  and  the  hum  of  a  passing  bee  as  it  buried 
itself  in  one  of  the  white  roses,  and  then  flew  on.  As 
she  looked  away  to  the  south,  it  seemed  to  her  she  could 
hear  more.  Her  eyes  refused  to  recognize  the  beautiful 
scene  before  her,  and  saw  another  which  was  very  differ- 
ent. Was  not  that  the  plashing  of  the  sea  on  the  sunny 
coast  of  France  ?  Was  not  that  the  sound  of  chanting  in 
the  small  chapel  at  Le  Croisic,  out  there  at  the  point  of 
land  that  runs  into  the  sea  above  the  estuary  of  the  Loire  ? 
Her  mental  vision  followed  the  line  of  coast  running 
inward — passing  the  quaint  houses  and  the  great  build- 
ing-yards of  St.  Nazairc — and  then,  as  she  followed  the 
course  of  the  broad  blue  river,  she  came  to  her  own  home, 
high  up  on  the  bank,  overlooking  the  islands  on  the  stream, 
and  the  lower  land  and  green  woods  beyond. 

"  If  I  had  a  pair  of  wings,"  she  said,  with  a  laugh, 
"  I  would  fly  avay."  She  had  determined  she  would 
always  speak  English  now,  even  to  herself. 

She  went  to  her  piano  and  sat  down  and  began  to 
sing  the  old  and  simple  air  that  rhe  had  sung  when  she 
left  her  southern  home.  She  sang  of  "  Normandie,  ma 
Normandie  ;  "  and  the  sensitive  thrill  of  a  rich  and  soft 
contralto  voice  lent  a  singular  pathos  to  the  air,  although 
she  seemed  to  sing  carelessly,  and,  indeed,  from  light- 
ness of  heart.  Now  it  happened  that  the  Whaup  was 
passing  the  foot  of  the  stair  leading  up  to  her  room. 
At  first  he  could  not  believe  his  ears  that  any  one  was 
actually  singing  a  profane  song  on  the  Sabbath  morn- 
ing ;  but  no  sooner  had  he  heard  "  O  Normandie,  ma 
Normandie  ! "  than  he  flew  up  the  stairs,  three  steps  at 
a  bound,  to  stop  such  wickedness. 

She  did  not  sing  loudly,  but  he  thought  he  had  never 
heard  such  singing.  He  paused  for  a  moment  at  the 


1 8  A  DAUGHTER  OF  II E  TIL 

top  of  the  stair.  He  listened,  and  succumbed  to  the 
temptress.  The  peculiar  penetrating  timbre  of  the  deep 
contralto  voice  pierced  him  and  fixed  him  there,  so  that 
he  forgot  all  about  his  well-meant  interference.  He 
listened  breathlessly,  and  with  a  certain  amount  of  awe, 
as  if  it  had  been  vouchsafed  to  him  to  hear  the  singing 
of  angels.  lie  remembered  no  more  that  it  was  sinful  ; 
and  when  the  girl  ceased  singing,  it  seemed  to  him 
there  was  a  terrible  void  in  the  silence,  which  was  al- 
most misery. 

Presently  her  ringers  touched  the  keys  again.  What 
was  this  now  that  filled  the  air  with  a  melody  which  had 
a  strange  distance  and  unearthliness  about  it  ?  She 
had  begun  to  play  Mozart's  sonata  in  A  sharp,  and  was 
playing  it  carelessly  enough ;  but  the  Whaup  had  never 
heard  anything  like  it  before.  It  seemed  to  him  to  open 
with  the  sad  stateliness  of  a  march,  and  he  could  almost* 
hear  in  it  the  tread  of  aerial  hosts  ;  and  then  there  was 
a  suggestion  of  triumph  and  joy,  falling  back  into  that 
plaintive  and  measured  cadence.  It  was  full  of  dreams 
and  mystery  to  him  ;  he  knew  no  longer  that  he  was  in 
a  Scotch  Manse.  But  when  the  girl  inside  the  room 
broke  into  the  rapidity  of  the  first  variation,  and  was  in- 
deed provoked  into  giving  some  attention  to  her  playing, 
and  lending  some  sharpness  to  her  execution,  he  was  re- 
called to  himself.  He  had  been  deluded  by  the  devil. 
He  would  no  longer  permit  this  thing  to  go  on  un- 
checked. He  would  at  once  have  opened  the  door  and 
charged  her  to  desist,  but  from  a  sneaking  hope  that 
she  might  play  something  more  intelligible  to  him  than 
these  variations,  which  he  regarded  as  impudent  and 
paganish — the  original  melody  playing  hide-and-seek 
with  you  in  a  demoniac  fashion,  and  laughing  at  you 
from  behind  a  corner,  when  you  thought  you  had  secured 
it.  He  was  lingering  in  this  uncertain  way  when  Lcezi- 
beth  dashed  up  the  stairs.  She  saw  him  standing  there, 
listening,  and  threw  a  glance  of  contempt  at  him.  She 
banged  the  door  open,  and  advanced  into  the  room. 
"  Preserve  us  a',  lassie,  do  ye  ken  what  ye're  doing  ? 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH.  jg 

Do  ye  no  ken  that  this  is  the  Sabbath,  and  that  you're 
in  a  respectable  house  ?  " 

The  girl  turned  around  with  more  wonder  than  alarm 
in  her  face. 

*rls  it  not  right  to  play  music  on  Sunday  ? " 

is  Sunday  !  Sunday  !  "  exclaimed  Leezibeth,  who  was 
nearly  choking,  partly  from  excitement  and  partly  from 
having  rushed  upstairs  ;  "  your  heathenish  gibberish 
accords  weel  wi'  sic  conduct.  There  is  nae  Sunday  for 
us.  We  are  no  worshippers  o'  Bel  and  the  Draugon ; 
and  dinna  ye  tell  me  that  the  dochter  o'  the  Minister's 
brither  doesna  ken  that  it  is  naething  less  than  heathen- 
ish to  turn  a  sober  and  respectable  house  into  a  Babel  o' 
a  theatre  on  a  Sabbath  morning — " 

At  this  moment  the  Whaup  made  his  appearance, 
with  his  eyes  aflame. 

"  Plenty,  plenty,  Leezibeth  !  "  said  he,  standing  out 
in  the  middle  of  the  floor. 

"  Ma  certes,"  said  Leezibeth,  turning  on  her  new 
enemy,  "  and  this  is  a  pretty  pass  !  Is  there  to  be  nae 
order  in  the  house  because  ye  are  a'  won  ower  by  a 
smooth  face  and  a  pretty  pair  o'  een  ?  Is  the  Manse  to 
be  tumbled  tapsalteery,  and  made  a  by-word  o'  because 
o'  a  foreign  hussy  ?  " 

"  Leezibeth,"  said  the  Whaup,  "  as  sure's  death,  if 
ye  say  another  word  to  my  cousin,  ye'll  gang  fleein' 
down  that  stair  quicker  than  ever  ye  came  up.  Do  ye 
hear  ? " 

Leezibeth  threw  up  her  hands,  and  went  away.  The 
Manse  would  soon  be  no  longer  fit  for  a  respectable 
woman  to  live  in.  Singing  and  dancing  and  play-acting 
on  the  Sabbath  morning  ;  after  all,  Andrew  was  right. 
It  would  have  been  a  merciful  dispensation  if  the  boat 
that  brought  this  Jezebel  to  the  country  had  foundered 
in  sight  of  its  shores. 

Then  the  Whaup  turned  to  Coquette.  "  Look  here," 
said  he,  "  I  don't  mean  to  get  into  trouble  more  nor  I 
can  help.  Leezibeth  is  an  authority  in  the  Manse,  and 
ye'll  hae  to  make  friends  wi'  her.  Don't  you  imagine 
you  can  play  music  here  or  do  what  ye  like  on  the  Sab- 


20  <4  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

bath,  for  you'll  have  to  be  like  the  rest,  gudeness 
gracious  !  what  are  ye  crying  for  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know,"  she  said,  turning  her  head  aside. 
"  I  thank  you  for  your  kindness  to  me." 

"  Oh,"  said  he,  with  a  tremendous  flush  of  red  to  his 
face — for  her  tears  had  made  him  valiant,  "  is  that  all  ? 
Look  here,  you  can  depend  on  me.  When  you  get  into 
trouble,  send  for  me.  If  any  man  or  woman  in  Airlie 
says  a  word  to  you,  by  jingo  !  I'll  punch  their  head  ! " 

With  that  she  turned  and  looked  at  him  with  laugh- 
ter like  sunshine  struggling  through  the  tears  in  her 
eyes. 

"  Is  it  English — -ponche  sare  Jtade  ?  " 

11  Not  as  you  pronounce  it,"  he  said,  coolly.  "  But 
as  I  should  show  them,  if  they  interfered  wi'  you,  it's 
very  good  English,  and  Scotch,  and  Irish  all  put  to- 
gether." 

On  Sunday  morning  Mr.  Cassilis  had  his  breakfast 
by  himself  in  his  study.  The  family  had  theirs  in  the 
ordinary  breakfast-room,  Leezibeth  presiding.  It  was 
during  this  meal  that  Coquette  began  for  the  first  time 
to  realize  the  fact  that  there  existed  between  her  and 
the  people  around  her  some  terrible  and  inexplicable 
difference  which  shut  her  out  from  them.  Leezibeth 
was  cold  and  distant  to  her.  The  boys,  all  except  the 
Whaup,  who  manfully  took  her  part,  looked  curiously  at 
her.  And  with  her  peculiar  sensitiveness  to  outward  im- 
pressions, she  began  to  ask  herself  if  there  was  not 
some  cause  for  this  suspicion  on  their  part.  Perhaps, 
she  was,  unknown  to  herself,  more  wicked  than  others. 
Perhaps  her  ignorance,  as  in  this  matter  of  music, 
which  she  had  always  regarded  as  harmless — had  blinded 
her  to  the  fact  that  there  was  something  more  demanded 
of  her  than  the  simple  and  innocent  and  joyous  life  she 
believed  herself  to  have  led.  These  doubts  and  anxie- 
ties grew  in  proportion  to  their  vagueness.  Was  she, 
after  all,  a  dangerous  person  to  have  come  among  these 
religious  people  ?  Andrew  would  have  been  rejoiced  to 
know  of  these  agitating  thoughts :  she  was  awakening 
to  a  consciousness  of  sin. 


•  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HE  TIL  21 

Scarcely  was  breakfast  over  than  a  message  was 
brought  that  Mr.  Cassilis  desired  to  see  his  niece  pri- 
vately. Coquette  rose  up,  very  pale.  Was  it  now 
that  she  was  to  have  explained  to  her  the  measure  of 
her  own  godlessness,  that  seemed  to  be  a  barrier  be- 
tween her  and  the  people  among  whom  she  was  to  live  ? 

She  went  to  the  door  of  the  study  and  paused  there, 
with  her  heart  beating.  Already  she  felt  like  a  leper 
that  stood  at  the  gates,  and  was  afraid  to  talk  to  any 
passer-by  for  fear  of  a  cruel  repulse.  She  opened  the 
door,  with  downcast  look,  and  entered.  Her  agitation 
prevented  her  from  speaking.  And  then,  having  raised 
her  eyes,  and  seeing  before  her  the  tall  gray-haired  Min- 
ister seated  in  his  chair,  she  suddenly  went  forward  to 
him  and  flung  herself  at  his  feet,  bursting  into  a  wild  fit  of 
weeping,  and  burying  her  face  in  his  knees.  In  broken 
speech,  interrupted  by  wild  sobbing  and  tears,  she  im- 
plored him  to  deal  gently  with  her  if  she  had  done 
wrong. 

"  I  do  not  know,"  she  said  "  I  do  not  know.  I  do 
not  mean  to  do  wrong.  I  will  do  what  you  tell  me, 
but  I  am  all  alone  here —  and  I  cannot  live  if  you  are 
angry  with  me.  I  will  go  away,  if  you  like  ;  perhaps  it 
will  be  better  if  I  go  away,  and  not  vex  you  any  more.'' 

"  But  you  have  not  vexed  me,  my  lassie,  you  have 
done  no  wrong  that  I  know  of,"  he  said,  putting  his 
hand  on  her  head.  "  What  is  all  this  ?  Wrhat  does  it 
mean  ? " 

She  looked  up  to  see  whether  the  expression  of  his 
face  corresponded  with  the  kindness  of  his  voice.  She 
saw  there  nothing  but  kindliness  in  the  rugged  gray 
lines,  and  the  ordinary  sternness  of  the  deep-set  eyes 
was  replaced  by  a  profound  pity. 

"  I  cannot  tell  you  in  English,  in  French  I  could," 
she  said.  "  They  speak  to  me  as  if  I  was  different  from 
them,  and  wicked,  and  I  do  not  know  m  what.  I 
thought  you  wished  to  reproach  me.  I  could  not  bear 
that.  If  I  do  wrong  without  knowing,  I  will  do  better, 
if  you  will  tell  me,  but  I  cannot  live  all  by  myself,  and 
think  that  I  am  wicked,  and  not  know.  If  it  is  wrong 


5W  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

to  play  music,  I  will  not  play  any  more  music.     I   will 
ask  Leesiebess  to  pardon  me  my  illness  of  this  morning, 
which  I  did  not  know  at  all." 
The  Minister  smiled. 

"So  you  have  been  playing  music  this  rooming,  and 
Leezibeth  has  stopped  you.  I  hope  she  was  not  to  blame 
in  her  speech,  for  to  her  it  would  seem  very  heinous  to 
hear  profane  music  on  the  Sabbath.  Indeed,  we  all  of 
us  in  Scotland  consider  that  the  Sabbath  should  be  de- 
voted to  meditation  and  worship,  not  to  idleness  or  amuse- 
ment; and  ye  will  doubtless  come  to  consider  it  no  great 
hardship  to  shut  your  piano  one  day  out  o'  the  seven. 
But  I  sent  for  ye  this  morning  wi'  quite  another  purpose 
than  to  scold  ye  for  having  fallen  through  ignorance  into 
a  fault,  of  which,  indeed,  I  knew  nothing." 

He  now  began  to  unfold  to  her  the  serious  perplexity 
which  had  been  caused  him  by  the  fact  of  her  having 
been   brought  up  a  Roman  Catholic.     On  the  one  hand, 
he  had  a  sacred  duty  to  perform  to  her  as  being  almost 
her  sole  surviving  relation;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  was 
he  justified  in  supplanting  with  another  faith   that  faith 
in  which  her  mother  had  desired  her  to  remain  ?     The 
Minister  had  been  seriously  troubled  about  this  matter, 
and  wished  to  have  it  settled  before  he  permitted  her  to 
go  to  church  with  the  rest  of  his  family.     He  was  a 
scrupulously  conscientious  man.     They  used  to  say  of 
him  in  Airlie  that  if  Satan,  in  arguing  with   him,  were 
to  fall  into  a  trap,  Mr.  Cassilis  would  scorn  to   take  ad- 
vantage of  any  mere  slip  of  the  tongue  ;  a  piece  of  recti- 
tude not  invariably  met  with  in  religious  disputes.    When, 
therefore,  the  Minister  saw  placed  in  his  hands  a  willing 
convert,  he  would  not  accept  of  the  conversion  without 
explaining  to  her  all  the  bearings  of  the  case,  and  point- 
ing out  to  her  clearly  vvhat  she  was  doing. 
Coquette  solved  the  difficulty  in  a  second. 
"  If  mamma  were  here,"  she  said,  "  she  would  go  at 
once  to  your  church.     It  never  mattered  to  us — the 
church.     The  difference,  or  is  it  differation  you  do  say 
in  English  ?     was  nothing  to  us  ;  and  papa  did  not  mind. 
I  will  go  to  your  church,  and  you  \vill  tell  me  all  what  it 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETIL\ 


is  right.  I  will  soon  know  all  your  religion,"  she  added, 
more  cheerfully,  "  and  I  will  sing  those  dreadful  slow 
tunes  which  papa  used  to  sing,  to  make  mamma  laugh." 

"My  brother  might  have  been  better  employed,"  said 
the  Minister,  with  a  frown  ;  but  Coquette  ran  away, 
light-hearted,  to  dress  herself  to  go  with  the  others. 

The  Whaup  was  a  head  taller  when  he  issued  out  of 
the  Manse,  by  the  side  of  his  new  cousin,  to  go  down  to 
the  little  church.  He  was  her  protector.  He  snubbed 
the  other  boys.  To  one  of  them,  Wattie  the  sneak,  he 
had  administered  a  sharp  cuff  on  the  side  of  the  head, 
when  the  latter,  on  Coquette  being  summoned  into  the 
study,  remarked  confidentially,  "  She's  gaun  to  get  her 
licks  ;  "  *  and  now,  when  the  young  lady  had  come  out 
in  all  the  snowy  brightness  of  her  light  summer  costume, 
Wattie  revenged  himself  by  murmuring  to  his  com- 
panions, — 

"  Doesna  she  look  like  a  play-actress  ?  " 

So  the  small  procession  passed  along  the  rough  moor- 
land road  until  they  drew  near  the  little  gray  church  and 
its  graveyard  of  rude  stones.  Towards  this  point  con- 
verged the  scattered  twos  and  threes  now  visible  across 
the  moor  and  down  in  the  village,  old  men  and  women, 
young  men  and  maidens,  all  in  their  best  Sunday  "  braws." 
The  dissonant  bell  was  sounding  harshly  ;  and  the  boys, 
before  going  into  the  gloomy  little  building,  threw  a  last 
and  wistful  glance  over  the  broad  moor,  where  the  bronzed 
and  the  yellow  butterflies  were  fluttering  in  the  sunlight, 
and  the  bees  drowsily  humming  in  the  heather. 

They  entered.  Every  one  stared  at  Coquette,  as  they 
had  stared  at  her  outside.  The  boys  could  not  under- 
stand the  easy  self-composure  with  which  she  followed 
the  Whaup  down  between  the  small  wooden  benches, 
and  took  her  place  in  the  Minister's  pew.  There  was 
no  confusion  or  embarrassment  in  her  manner  on  meet- 
ing the  eyes  of  the  lot  of  strangers. 

"  She's  no  feared,"  said  Wattie  to  his  neighbor. 

When  Coquette  had  taken  her  seat,  she  knelt  down 

*  Anglice  —  a  whipping. 


24  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HE  TH. 

and  covered  her  face  with  her  hands.  The  Whaup 
touched  her  arm  quickly. 

"  Ye  maunna  do  that,"  said  he,  looking  around  anx- 
iously to  see  whether  any  of  the  congregation  had  wit- 
nessed this  piece  of  Romish  superstition. 

That  look  around  dashed  from  his  lips  the  cup  of 
pleasure  he  had  been  drinking.  Looking  at  both  him- 
self and  Coquette,  he  met  the  eyes  of  Lord  Earlshope  ; 
and  the  congregation  had  not  seen  anything  of  Coquette's 
kneeling,  for  they  had  turned  from  her  to  gaze  on  the 
no  less  startling  phenomenon  of  Lord  Earlshope  occupy- 
ing his  family  pew,  in  which  he  had  not  been  seen  for 
many  years. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

AN    UNEXPECTED   VISITOR. 

COQUETTE  did  not  observe  the  presence  of  Lord 
Earlshope  for  some  time.  She  was  much  engaged  in  the 
service,  which  was  quite  new  to  her.  First  of  all,  the 
Minister  rose  in  his  pulpit  and  read  out  a  psalm  ;  and 
then,  under  him,  the  precentor  rose,  and  begun,  all  by 
himself,  to  lead  off  the  singing  in  a  strong,  harsh  voice, 
which  had  but  little  music  in  it.  The  tune  was  "  Drum- 
clog  ;  "  and  as  Coquette  listened,  she  mentally  grouped 
its  fine  and  impressive  melody  with  chords,  and  thought 
of  the  wonderful  strength  and  sweetness  that  Mendels- 
sohn could  have  imparted  to  that  bare  skeleton  of  an  air. 
The  peop]e  groaned  rather  than  sung,  there  was  not 
even  an  attempt  at  part  singing.  The  men  merely  followed 
the  air  an  octave  lower,  except  when  they  struck  into 
quite  a  different  key,  and  produced  such  dissonances  as 
are  indescribable.  If  the  use  of  the  piano  were  not  en- 
tirely proscribed,  she  promised  to  herself  that  she  would 
show  the  Whaup  next  morning  the  true  character  of  that 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETfL  25 

simple  and  noble  air  which  was  being  so  cruelly  ill- 
treated. 

There  followed  a  long  extempore  prayer,  and  another 
psalm,  sung  to  the  me.lancholy  "  Coleshill,"  and  then 
there  came  the  sermon.  She  tried  hard  to  understand 
it,  but  she  could  not.  It  was  an  earnest  and  powerful 
appeal ;  but  it  was  so  clothed  in  the  imagery  of  the 
Jewish  prophets,  so  full  of  the  technical  phrases  of  the 
Scotch  preachers,  that  she  could  not  follow  it.  Her 
English  had  been  chiefly  gathered  from  the  free  and 
easy  conversation  of  her  father,  and  even  that  had  been 
modified  by  the  foreign  pronunciation  of  her  mother ; 
so  that  such  phrases  as  "  the  fulfilment  of  the  covenant," 
"  girding  up  the  loins,"  "  awakening  unto  grace,"  and  so 
forth,  conveyed  no  meaning  to  her  whatever.  In  spite 
of  her  best  endeavors,  she  found  herself  dreaming  of  the 
Loire,  of  St.  Nazaire,  of  Guerande,  of  the  salt  plains 
that  lie  between  that  town  and  Le  Croisic,  and  of  the 
Breton  peasants  in  their  white  bragousbras  and  wide 
hats,  making  their  pilgrimages  to  the  church  of  Notre 
Dame  de  Murier. 

The  sight  of  Lord  Earlshope  had  made  the  Whaup 
both  savage  and  wicked.  He  proposed  to  Wattie  to 
play  "  Neevie,  neevie,  nick-nack  "  ;  an  offer  which  Wat- 
tie  looked  upon  as  the  direct  instigation  of  the  devil, 
and  refused  accordingly. 

When,  at  last,  Coquette  caught  the  eyes  of  ford 
Earlshope  fixed  upon  her,  she  was  surprised  to  see  him 
so  intently  regarding  her.  There  was  something  wist- 
ful, too,  in  his  look ;  his  face  bearing  an  expression  of 
seriousness  she  did  not  expect  to  find  in  it.  During  the 
brief  period  in  which  he  talked  to  her  he  had  left  upon 
her  the  impression  of  his  being  merely  a  light-hearted 
young  man,  who  had  winning  ways,  and  a  good  deal  of 
self-confidence.  But  the  fact  is,  she  had  paid  no  very 
great  attention  to  him,  and  even  new  she  was  not  dis- 
posed to  look  upon  his  fixed  gaze  as  anything  beyond  a 
mere  accident.  She  turned  her  eyes  aside ;  tried  once 
more  to  follow  the  sermon  ;  and  again  subsided  into 
dreaming  of  Bourg  de  Batz  and  the  square  pools  of  the 


2  6  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETff. 

salt  plains,  with  the  ancient  walls  of  Guerande  filling  up 
the  horizon  of  her  imagination. 

When  the  service  was  over,  and  they  had  got  out- 
side, the  Whaup  bundled  them  off  on  the  road  towards 
the  Manse  with  but  little  ceremony,  taking  care  that 
Coquette  should  be  in  front. 

"What  has  changed  you?"  she  said,  in  some  sur- 
prise. "  I  did  think  you  were  good  friends  with  me  on 
coming  to  the  church." 

"  Never  mind,"  he  said  abruptly  ;  and  then  he  added, 
sharply,  "  Did  you  see  Lord  Earlshope  there  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  did  see  him." 

"What  business  had  he  there  ?  " 

"  People  go  not  to  the  church  for  business,"  she  said, 
with  a  laugh. 

"  He  has  not  been  in  that  pew  for  years,"  said  the 
Whaup,  gloomily. 

"  Perhaps  he  is  becoming  a  good  man,"  she  said, 
lightly,  making  a  careless  effort  to  catch  a  butterfly  that 
fluttered  before  her  face. 

"  He  has  plenty  to  alter,  then,"  said  the  Whaup, 
bitterly. 

"  Quel  drole  de  grand  enfant !  Wattie,"  she  said 
turning  to  the  Whaup's  brother,  "  will  you  run  with  me 
to  the  house  ?  " 

She  held  out  her  hand. 

"  No,  I'll  no/'  said  Wattie.  "  Ye  are  a  Roman,  and 
can  get  absolution  for  a'  the  ill  ye  dae." 

"I  will,  an'  ye  like,"  said  the  youngest  of  the  brothers, 
Dougal,  timidly. 

"  Come  along,  then  !  " 

She  took  his  hand,  and,  before  Leezibeth  or  Andrew- 
could  interfere,  they  were  fleeing  along  the  rough  road 
towards  the  Manse,  far  in  front  of  the  others.  Dougal, 
young  as  he  was,  was  a  swift  runner  ;  but  the  foreign 
lassie  beat  him,  and  was  evidently  helping  him.  All  at 
once  Dougal  was  seen  to  stumble  and  roll  forward.  Co- 
quette made  a  desperate  effort  to  save  him,  but  in  vain  ; 
and  while  he  fell  prone  upon  the  ground,  she  was  brought 
nearly  on  her  knees.  The  little  fellow  got  up,  looking 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HE  TIL  2J 

sadly  at  one  of  his  hands,  which  was  badly  scratched 
with  the  gravel.  He  looked  at  her,  too,  dumbly ;  clench- 
ing his  lips  to  keep  himself  from  crying,  although  the 
tears  would  gather  in  his  eyes.  In  an  instant  she  had 
overwhelmed  him  with  pitying  caresses  and  soft  French 
phrases  of  endearment,  while  she  carefully  smoothed  his 
torn  hand  with  her  handkerchief. 

"  You  will  come  with  me  to  my  room,  and  I  will  heal 
it  for  you." 

She  carried  him  off  before  the  others  had  arrived, 
and  washed  his  hand,  and  put  cold  cream  on  it,  and  gave 
him  a  whole  box  of  French  chocolate,  a  dainty  which 
he  had  never  seen  before,  but  which  he  speedily  appre- 
ciated. Then  she  said, — 

"  Come  along,  now,  and  I  will  sing  you  something. 
Alas  !  no,  I  must  not  open  my  piano  any  more/' 

It  was  the  first  time  Dougal  had  ever  heard  anybody 
say  "alas!"  a  word  which  Coquette  had  picked  up 
from  her  English  books.  He  began  to  distrust  all  this 
kindness  and  all  these  fascinating  ways.  What  Coquette 
knew  of  English  was  more  English  than  Scotch  in  pro- 
nunciation. Now  everybody  in  Airlie  was  aware  of  the 
curious  fact  that  all  actors  and  public  singers,  and  such 
people  generally  as  live  by  their  wits,  were  English  ;  and 
an  English  accent  was  therefore  in  itself  suspicious.  If 
this  young  lady  in  the  white  muslin  dress,  with  the  blue 
ribbons  in  her  black  hair,  was  not  actually  French,  she 
was  English,  which  was  only  a  shade  less  deplorable. 
Dougal  accepted  the  brown  and  sweet,  little  balls  of 
chocolate  with  some  compunction,  and  hoped  he  was  do- 
ing no  mortal  sin  in  eating  them. 

After  the  "interval,"  as  it  was  technically  called, 
they  had  to  go  to  church  again,  and  here  Coquette's  pa- 
tience nearly  gave  way.  Nor  was  the  situation  rendered 
less  grievous  by  the  Whaup  informing  her  severely  that 
in  Airlie  there  was  no  such  thing  as  idle  walking  about 
on  the  Sabbath,  that  the  whole  of  the  afternoon  she 
would  not  even  be  permitted  to  go  into  the  garden,  but 
would  have  to  sit  indoors  and  read  a  "  good  book."  The 
Whaup  was  not  ill-pleased  to  have  to  convey  this  infor- 


2  3  A  DA  UGIJ  TER  OF  HE  TIL 

ination  ;  he  fancied  Lord  Earlshope  might  be  prowling 
about. 

There  was  a  "  tea  dinner  "  at  four  o'clock,  consisting 
exclusively  of  cold  meats,  with  tea  added.  Thereafter 
the  whole  family  sat  down  in  solemn  silence  to  their 
books,  the  list  being  the  Bible,  the  Shorter  and  Longer 
Catechisms,  Hutcheson's  Exposition,  Dr.  Spurstow  on 
the  Promise,  the  Christian's  Charter,  Bishop  Downham 
on  the  Covenant  of  Grace  (these  last  printed  for  Ralph 
Smith,  at  the  Bible  in  CornJdll "),  and  Josephus.  By 
this  copy  of  Josephus  there  hangs  a  tale. 

Dougal,  remembering  that  business  of  the  chocolate, 
came  over  to  Coquette  and  whispered, — 

"  If  ye  are  friends  wi'  the  Whaup,  he'll  show  ye  the 
third  volume  of  Josephus." 

Indeed  the  boys  manifested  the  most  lively  curiosity 
when  the  Whaup  appeared  bearing  the  third  volume  of 
Josephus  in  his  hand.  They  seemed  to  forget  the  sun- 
light outside,  and  the  fresh  air  of  the  moor,  in  watching 
this  treasure.  The  Whaup  sat  down  at  the  table,  the 
Minister  was  seated  at  the  upper  end  of  the  room  in  his 
arm-chair,  and  the  third  volume  of  Josephus  was  opened. 

Coquette  perceived  that  some  mystery  was  abroad. 
The  boys  drew  more  and  more  near  to  the  Whaup,  and 
were  apparently  more  anxious  to  see  the  third  volume 
of  Josephus  than  anything  else.  She  observed  also  that 
the  Whaup,  keeping  the  board  of  the  volume  up,  never 
seemed  to  turn  over  any  leaves. 

She,  too,  overcome  by  feminine  curiosity,  drew  near. 
The  Whaup  looked  at  her,  suspiciously  at  first,  then  he 
seemed  to  relent. 

"  Have  ye  read  Josephus  ?  "  he  said  aloud  to  her. 

"No/    paid  Coquette. 

"  It  is  a  most  valuable  work."  said  the  Minister  from 
the  upper  end  of  the  room  (the  Whaup  started),  "  as 
giving  corroboration  to  the  sacred  writings  from  one  who 
was  not  an  advocate  of  the  truth." 

Coquette  moved  her  chair  in  to  the  table.  The 
Whaup  carefully  placed  the  volume  before  her.  She 
looked  at  it,  and  beheld — two  white  mice  ! 


A  DA  UGH  TER  OF  HE  TH.  2  9 

The  mystery  was  solved.  The  Whaup  had  daringly 
cut  out  the  body  of  the  volume,  leaving  the  boards  and 
a  margin  of  the  leaves  all  round.  In  the  hole  thus  formed 
reposed  two  white  mice,  in  the  feeding  and  petting  of 
which  he  spent  the  whole  Sunday  afternoon,  when  he 
'was  supposed  to  be  reading  diligently.  No  wonder  the 
ooys  were  anxious  to  see  the  third  volume  of  Josephus ; 
:and  when  any  one  of  them  had  done  a  particular  favor 
to  the  Whaup,  he  was  allowed  to  have  half  an  hour  of 
the  valuable  book.  There  were  also  two  or  three  leaves 
left  in  front ;  so  that,  when  any  dangerous  person  passed, 
these  leaves  could  be  shut  down  over  the  cage  of  the 
mice. 

They  were  thus  engaged  when  Leezibeth  suddenly 
opened  the  door,  and  said, 

"  Lord  Earlshope  would  speak  wi'  ye,  sir." 

Astonishment  was  depicted  on  every  countenance. 
From  time  immemorial  no  visitor  had  dared  to  invade 
the  sanctity  of  Airlie  Manse  on  a  Sabbath  afternoon. 

"  Show  him  into  my  study,  Leezibeth,"  said  the  Min- 
ister. 

"  By  no  means,"  said  his  Lordship,  entering ;  "  I 
would  not  disturb  you,  Mr.  Cassilis,  on  any  account.  I 
have  merely  called  in  to  say  a  passing  word  to  you,  al- 
though I  know  it  is  not  good  manners  in  Airlie  to  pay 
visits  on  Sunday." 

"  Your  Lordship  is  doubtless  aware,"  returned  Mr. 
Cassilis,  gravely,  "  that  it  is  not  the  consideration  of  good 
manners  gars  us  keep  the  Sabbath  inviolate  from  customs 
which  on  other  days  are  lawful  and  praiseworthy." 

"  I  know,  I  know,"  said  the  young  gentleman,  good- 
'naturedly,  and  taking  so  little  notice  of  the  hint  as  to  ap- 
propriate a  chair  ;  "  but  you  must  blame  my  English  ed- 
ucation if  I  fall  short.  Indeed,  it  struck  me  this  morning 
that  I  have  of  late  been  rather  remiss  in  attending  to  my 
duties,  and  I  made  a  sort  of  resolve  to  do  better.  You 
would  see  I  was  at  church  to-day." 

"  You  could  not  have  been  in  a  more  fitting  place," 
said  the  Minister. 

Mr.  Cassilis,  despite  the  fact  that  he  was  talking  tc 


30  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HE TH. 

the  patron  of  the  living,  Lord  Earlshope's  father  had 
presented  him  to  the  parish  of  Airlie,  was  not  disposed 
to  be  too  gracious  to  this  young  man,  whose  manner  of 
conduct,  although  in  no  way  openly  sinful,  had  been  a 
scandal  to  the  neighborhood. 

"  He'll  have  a  heavy  reconin'  to  settle  i'  the  next 
woiT,"  Andrew  used  to  say,  "be  he  lord  or  no  lord. 
What  think  ye,  sirs,  o'  a  young  man  that  reads  licht  books 
and  smokes  cigaurs  fraethe  rising  o'  the  sun  even  till  the 
ganging  doon  o'  the  same  ;  and  roams  about  on  the  Lord's 
day  breaking  in  a  wheen  pointers  ?  " 

The  boys  looked  on  this  visit  of  Lord  Earlshope  as  a 
blessed  relief  from  the  monotony  of  the  Sunday  after- 
noon ;  and  while  they  kept  their  eyes  steadily  directed 
on  their  books,  Kstened  eagerly  to  what  he  had  to  say. 
This  amusement  did  not  last  long.  His  Lordship, 
scarcely  taking  any  notice  of  Coquette  in  his  talk,  though 
he  sometimes  looked  at  her  by  chance,  spoke  chiefly  of 
some  repairs  in  the  church  which  he  was  willing  to  aid 
with  a  subscription ;  and,  having  thus  pleased  the  Minis- 
ter, mentioned  that  Earlshope  itself  had  been  undergoing 
repairs  and  redecoration. 

"  And  I  have  no  neighbors  but  yourselves,  Mr  Cas- 
silis,  to  see  our  new  grandeur.  Will  you  not  pay  Earls- 
hope a  visit  ?  What  do  you  say  to  coming  over,  the 
whole  of  you,  to-morrow  forenoon,  and  seeing  what  I  have 
done  ?  I  dare  say  Mrs.  Graham  will  be  able  to  get  some 
refreshment  for  you  ;  and  I  should  like  your  niece, 
whom  I  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  on  her  way  here,  to 
give  me  her  opinion  about  an  organ  sent  me  from  abroad. 
What  do  you  say  ?  I  am  sure  the  boys  will  enjoy  a  holi- 
day in  the  grounds,  and  be  able  to  find  amusement  for 
themselves." 

If  the  Whaup  dared  to  have  spoken,  he  would  have 
refused  in  indignant  terms.  The  other  boys  were  de- 
lighted with  the  prospect,  although  they  were  still  sup- 
posed to  be  reading.  Coquette  merely  looked  at  Mr. 
Cassilis,  apparently  without  much  interest,  awaiting  his 
answer. 

Mr.  Cassilis  replied,  in  grave  and  dignified  terms  cf 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HE  TIT.  31 

courtesy,  that  he  would  be  proud  to  avail  himself  of  his 
Lordship's  invitation  ;  and  added  that  he  hoped  this  re- 
establishment  of  the  relations  which  had  existed  between 
Earlshope  and  the  Manse  in  the  time  of  his  Lordship's 
father  meant  that  he,  the  present  Lord  Earlshope,  in- 
tended to  come  oftener  to  church  than  had  been  his  wont 
of  late.  The  hint  was  conveyed  in  very  plain  language. 
The  young  gentleman,  however,  took  it  in  good  part,  and 
speedily  bade  them  good-evening.  He  bowed  to  Co- 
quette as  he  passed  her,  and  she  returned  his  obeisance, 
with  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  ground. 


CHAPTER  V. 

COQUETTE'S  MUSIC. 

WHAT  ^as  this  great  rushing  and  whistling  noise 
that  filled  the  girl's  ears  as  the  light  of  the  morning, 
entering  by  a  small  window,  which  had  no  sort  of  blind 
or  shutter,  fell  on  her  face  and  opened  her  confused 
eyes  to  its  glare  ?  She  had  been  dreaming  of  Earleshope. 
Dreams  are  but  rechauffees  of  past  experiences  ;  and 
this  ghostly  Earlshope  that  she  visited  in  her  sleep  was 
a  French  Earlshope.  The  broad,  blue  Loire  ran  down  a 
valley  in  front  of  it.  There  were  hills  for  a  background 
which  had  long  terraces  of  vines  on  them.  From  the  win- 
dows she  could  see  the  steamers,  mere  dots  with  a  long 
serpent  train  of  smoke  behind  them,  creep  into  the 
haven  of  St.  Nazaire  ;  and  far  over  the  sea  lay  the  calm 
summer  stillness  of  a  southern  sky. 

She  awoke  to  find  herself  in  Scotland.  The  Manse 
shook  in  the  wind.  There  was  a  roaring  of  rain  on  the 
slates  and  the  window  panes,  and  a  hissing  outside  of 
the  deluge  that  was  pouring  a  red  stream  down  the 
moorland  road.  Fierce  gusts  from  the  southwest  flew 
about  the  house,  and  howled  in  the  chimney  overhead  ; 


32 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETff. 


and  great  gray  masses  of  cloud,  riven  by  the  hurricane, 
came  up  from  over  the  sea  and  swept  across  the  moor. 
The  room  was  cold  and  damp.  When  she  had  got  up 
and  partly  dressed,  she  went  to  the  window.  Along  the 
horizon  there  was  a  thin  black  line,  dull  as  lead,  which 
was  all  that  was  visible  of  the  sea.  The  mountains  of 
Arran  had  entirely  disappeared,  and  in  their  place  was  a 
wall  of  gray  vapor.  Flying  before  the  blast  came  huge 
volumes  of  smoke-like  cloud,  and  everv  now  and  again 
their  lower  edges  would  be  torn  down  by  the  wind  and 
thrown  upon  the  moor  in  heavy,  slanting  torrents  of  rain  ; 
while  there  was  a  sound  of  rushing  streams  everywhere, 
and  the  trees  and  shrubs  of  the  garden  stood  bent  and 
dark  in  the  gleaming  wet. 

"  No  Earlshope  for  ye  to-day,"  said  the  Whaup, 
with  ill-disguised  glee,  when  she  went  downstairs  to 
breakfast. 

"  I  am  not  sorry.  What  a  dreadful  chill  country  ! " 
said  Coquette,  who  was  trembling  with  cold. 

"  Would  you  like  a  fire  ? "  said  the  Whaup,  eagerly. 

"A  fire,  indeed!"  cried  Leezibeth,  as  she  entered 
with  the  tray.  "  A  fire  in  the  middle  o'  summer  !  We 
have  na  been  brought  up  to  sic  luxuries  in  this  pairt  o' 
the  country." 

"  I  am  not  very  cold,"  said  Coquette,  sitting  down  in 
a  corner,  and  trying  to  keep  herself  from  shivering. 

The  Whaup  walked  out  of  the  room.  He  was  too 
angry  to  speak.  He  looked  once  at  Leezibeth  on  going 
out,  and  there  was  a  blaze  of  anger  in  his  eyes. 

The  Minister  came  in  to  breakfast,  and  they  all  sat 
down  ;  all  but  true  Whaup. 

"  Where  is  Thomas  ? "  said  Mr.  Cassi-lis. 

The  reply  was  a  shrill  scream  from  Leezibeth,  who 
was  apparently  at  the  door.  At  this  moment  a  wild 
crackling  and  sputtering  of  fire  was  heard  overhead,  and 
as  everybody  rushed  to  the  passage,  dense  volumes  of 
smoke  came  rolling  down  the  stairs,  blown  by  the  cur- 
rents above.  Leezibeth  had  flown  upstairs  on  first  per- 
ceiving this  smell  of  burning.  There,  in  Coquette's 
parlor,  she  caught  sight  of  the  Whaup  working  like  a 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HE  TIL  33 

demon  within  clouds  of  heavy  and  pungent  smoke  which 
had  filled  the  room,  blown  outward  by  the  fierce  currents 
coming  down  the  chimney.  With  another  cry  of  alarm 
Leezibeth  darted  into  the  nearest  bedroom,  and  brought 
out  a  ewer  of  water,  which  she  discharged  at  the  blazing 
mass  of  newspapers  and  lumps  of  wood  that  the  Whaup 
had  crammed  into  the  small  grate. 

"  Would  ye  set  fire  to  the  house  ?  Would  ye  set  fire 
to  the  house  ? "  she  cried,  and,  indeed,  it  looked  as  if 
the  house  were  on  fire. 

"  Yes,  I  would,"  shouted  the  demon  in  the  smoke, 
"  rather  than  kill  any  body  wi'  cold." 

"  Oh,  it's  that  lassie,  it's  that  lassie  !  "  cried  Leezibeth, 
"  that'll  be  the  ruin  o'  us  a." 

When  assistance  came,  and  the  fire  was  finally  sub- 
dued, both  the  Whaup  and  Leezibeth  were  spectacles  to 
nave  awakened  the  ridicule  of  gods  and  men.  The  ef- 
fect of  the  deluge  of  water  had  been  to  send  up  a  cloud 
of  dust  and  ashes  with  the  smoke  ;  and  their  faces  were 
tattooed  so  that  even  Mr.  Cassilis,  for  the  first  time 
these  many  years,  burst  into  a  fit  of  laughter.  Even 
Wattie  laughed,  seeing  which  the  Whaup  charged  at 
him  caught  him  by  the  waist,  and  carried  him  bodily 
downstairs  and  out  through  the  rain  to  the  yard,  where 
he  made  him  work  the  iron  handle  of  the  pump.  When 
the  Whaup  made  his  appearance  at  the  breakfast-table 
he  was  clean,  but  both  himself  and  his  brother  were 
rather  damp. 

Mr.  Cassilis  severely  reprimanded  his  eldest  son  ; 
but  he  ordered  Leezibeth  to  light  a  fire  in  Miss  Cassilis's 
room  nevertheless.  The  wind  had  somewhat  abated, 
and  the  clouds  had  gathered  for  a  steady  downpour. 
Leezibeth  went  to  her  appointed  task  with  bitterness  of 
heart,  but  she  comforted  herself  with  texts.  As  she 
stuffed  the  unconsumed  remnants  of  the  Whaup' s  bon- 
fire into  the  grate,  she  uttered  a  denunciation  of  the 
luxury  and  idleness  which  were  appearing  for  the  first 
time  in  that  godly  house. 

"  But  we,"  she  muttered  to  herself,  "  who  are  the  poor 
o'  this  world,  rich  in  faith,  and  heirs  o'  the  kingdom, 


34 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 


maun  bide  and  suffer.  We  maun  e'en  be  the  servants 
o'  such  as  this  woman  that  has  come  among  us  ;  such  as 
lie  upon  beds  of  ivory,  and  stretch  themselves  upon  their 
couches,  and  eat  the  lambs  out  of  the  flock,  and  the  calves 
out  of  the  midst  of  the  stall ;  that  chant  to  the  sound  of 
the  viol,  and  invent  to  themselves  instruments  of  music, 
like  David  ;  that  drink  wine  in  bowls,  and  anoint  them- 
selves wi'  the  chief  ointments  ;  but  they  are  not  grieved 
for  the  affliction  of  Joseph." 

Yet  even  these  consolations  did  not  quite  allay  the 
irritation  of  her  mind  ;  for  a  big  tom-cat  that  belonged  to 
the  house  having  approached  her  elbow  too  confidently, 
suddenly  received  a  "  skelp"  that  sent  him  flying  across 
the  room  and  down  the  stairs  as  if  the  spirits  of  a  legion 
of  dogs  were  pursuing  him. 

Airlie  Manse  was  destined  that  day  to  be  given  up 
to  the  sound  of  the  viol  and  other  heathenish  rejoicings. 
All  thought  of  getting  to  Earlshope  was  abandoned  ; 
and  shortly  after  breakfast  Coquette  invited  Mr.  Cassilis 
and  the  boys  to  her  sitting-room,  promising  to  play 
something  for  them.  Custom  made  the  Minister  hesi- 
tate for  a  moment..  Was  not  dance  music  very  near 
dancing,  which  he  regarded  as  a  profane  and  dangerous 
amusement  ? 

"I  wish  to  play  for  you,  what  you  call  it?  the  tune 
of  the  church  yesterday,  as  it  should  be  sung.  Will  you 
hear  it  from  me  ? " 

No  objection  could  be  taken  to  sacred  music.  The 
Minister  led  the  way  to  the  room,  and  the  boys  sat  down 
silently,  looking  around  with  curiosity  and  awe  upon  the 
strange  bits  of  foreign  adornment  and  luxury  which 
Coquette  had  already  placed  about  the  room.  The  fire 
was  burning  brightly,  the  rain  pattering  on  the  panes 
outside.  Coquette  sat  down  to  the  piano. 

The  Minister  did  not  know  at  first  that  he  was  listen- 
ing to  the  old  and  familiar  air  of  "  Drumclog."  It  seemed 
to  him  the  cry  of  a  great  supplication,  sad,  yearning, 
and  distant,  as  if  it  came  from  a  far  moor  half  hidden  in 
mist.  It  sounded  like  the  softened  and  various  voices  of 
a  great  multitude  made  harmonious  and  pathetic  by  dis- 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETIf.  35 

tance.  But  when  she  smote  firmer  chords,  and  with  a 
resonant  and  powerful  bass  let  the  clear  treble  ring  out 
triumphantly,  he  recognized  "  Drumclog."  It  was  a  song 
of  victory  now,  the  war-cry  of  a  host  moved  by  intense 
religious  enthusiasm  ;  there  was  a  joyous  thanksgiving 
in  it,  and  the  clear  voices  of  women  and  children.  It 
seemed  to  him  to  represent  a  tumult  of  rejoicing,  set  in 
measured  and  modulated  music,  that  rose  like  one  sweet, 
strong  voice.  Then  again  the  chords  were  softened, 
and  the  air  changed  to  a  wail.  He  could  almost  see  the 
far  moor,  and  the  dead  lying  on  it,  and  women  wringing 
their  hands,  and  yet  thanking  God  for  the  victory. 

"  It  is  wonderfu',  wonderfu',"  he  said,  when  Coquette 
had  ceased  playing,  "  the  power  o'  a  dumb  instrument  to 
speak  such  strange  things.'' 

He  was  surprised  to  find  that  this  carnal  invention 
of  music  had  awoke  such  profound  emotion  within  him. 
He  waited  to  see  if  the  girl  herself  were  affected  as  she 
had  affected  him  ;  but  Coquette  turned  around  and 
said,  lightly,  "  It  is  a  good  air,  but  your  church  people 
they  do  not  sing  it.  They  groan,  groan,  groan  all  the 
same  air  :  no  counter-singing,  no  music." 

"  But  you  would  make  any  tune,  however  bad,  sound 
well,"  said  the  Whaup,  warmly.  "  To  every  one  note 
you  give  four  or  five  other  notes,  all  in  harmony.  No 
wonder  it  sounds  well.  It  is  no  test.  Play  us  some  of 
your  foreign  music,  that  we  may  compare  it." 

The  boys  looked  at  the  Whaup  with  astonishment : 
he  was  becoming  an  orator. 

So  she  played  them  the  Cujus  animam,  and  for  the  first 
time  in  its  history  the  Manse  of  Airlie  was  flooded  with 
that  sonorous  and  brilliant  music  that  has  charmed  the 
hearts  of  multitudes.  She  played  them  the  mystic  melo- 
dies of  the  Hockzitemarsch,  and  they  thought  that  these 
also  were  the  expiession  of  a  sublime  devotional  exalta- 
tion. Indeed,  the  boys  regarded  those  pieces  with  some- 
thing of  awe  and  fear.  There  was  an  unholy  smack  of 
organ-playing  and  Romanism  about  Coquette's  perform- 
ances. Had  she  not  transfomed  the  decent  and  sober 
tune  of  "  Drumclog  "  into  a  mass  or  chant,  or  some  such 


3  6  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HE  TIL 

vague  portion  of  Catholic  ordinances  ?  Wattie  was  in 
possession  of  an  ingenious  little  book  on  "  Various  Forms 
of  Idolatry  ;"  and,  the  first  plate  representing  the  burn- 
ing at  the  stake  of  a  "  popish  witch/'  he  had  pointed  out 
to  his  brothers  that  the  black  and  profuse  hair  of  the 
young  woman  in  the  flames  very  much  resembled  the 
hair  of  Coquette.  It  was  but  a  suggestion,  yet  Rabbie, 
another  of  the  brothers,  expressed  the  belief  that  there 
were  witches  in  these  days  also,  that  they  were  emissaries 
of  the  "  deevil,"  and  that  it  behooved  every  one  who  wished 
to  save  his  soul  to  guard  against  such  fiends  in  disguise, 
and,  above  all,  never  to  repeat  any  charm  after  them  to- 
wards twelve  of  the  night. 

Coquette  rose  from  the  piano. 

"  Who  is  going  to  play  for  me  now  ?  "  she  said,  look- 
ing at  the  boys. 

A  loud  guffaw  ran  down  the  line  of  them  ;  the  notion 
of  a  boy  being  able  to  play  on  the  piano  was  irresistibly 
ludicrous. 

"  Have  you  not  learned  at  the  school  ?  "  she  asked. 
"  You  must  know  some  pieces  to  play." 

"  Frenchmen  may  learn  to  play  the  piano/'  said  the 
Whaup,  with  an  air  of  calm  superiority,  "  but  men  in 
this  country  have  something  else  to  do." 

"  What  is  it  you  do  ? "  said  Coquette,  simply,  having 
quite  misunderstood  the  remark.  "  You  play  not  the 
piano  :  is  it  the  violin — the — the  flute  one  learns  here 
at  the  school?" 

"  We  dinna  learn  music  at  the  schule,  ye  gowk,  "said 
one  of  the  boys. 

"  Nor  manners  either,"  said  the  Whaup,  firing  up  at 
the  last  word. 

At  this  juncture  the  Minister  gravely  thanked  Co- 
quettet  for  the  pleasure  her  music  had  given  him,  and 
left  the  room.  No  sooner  had  he  gone  than  the  Whaup 
ordered  his  brothers  to  follow  They  seemed  inclined  to 
show  a  spirit  of  insubordination. 

"  Out  every  one  o*  ye !  "  he  cried,  "  or  I'll  leather  ye 
in  a  lump  ! " 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HE  TIL  37 

This  autocratic  proceeding  left  him  master  of  the  field. 
So  he  turned  to  Coquette,  and  said, — 

"  Ye  said  ye  wanted  to  hear  some  music.  There 
is  but  one  musician  in  Airlie  forbye  the  precentor.  I 
mean  Neil  the  Pensioner,  He's  a  famous  player  on  the 
fiddle — an  out-and-out  player,  ye  may  take  my  word  for'L 
Will  I  go  and  bring  him  to  ye  ?'' 

"  Perhaps  he  will  not  come/* 

"  Oh,  I'll  bring  him,"  said  the  Whaup,  confidently. 

"  But  it  rains  much,"  said  Coquette,  looking  out  on 
the  disconsolate  gray  landscape,  the  dripping  trees,  and 
the  lowering  sky. 

The  Whaup  laughed  aloud,  as  his  long  legs  carried 
him  down  the  soft  red  road  over  the  moor  towards  the 
village.  He  was  no  timid  French  creature,  brought  up 
under  fair  skies,  that  he  should  dread  a  temporary  wetting. 
When  he  arrived  at  Neil  Lament's  cottage  the  rain  was 
running  down  his  face,  and  he  only  blew  it  from  his 
mouth  and  flung  it  from  his  fingers  as  he  burst  into  the 
astonished  Pensioner's  presence,  and  bade  him  bundle 
up  his  fiddle  and  come  along. 

The  Pensioner,  as  he  was  called,  was  a  tall,  spare  old 
Highlandman,  somewhat  bent  now,  with  scanty  gray  hair, 
and  dazed,  mild  gray  eyes,  who  had  been  at  Waterloo. 
He  represented  at  once  the  martial  and  musical  aspects  of 
Airlie.  His  narra  ive  of  the  event  of  Waterloo  had  grad- 
ually, during  many  years,  become  more  and  more  full  of 
personal  detail,  until  the  old  man  at  last  firmly  believed 
that  he  himself,  in  his  own  proper  person,  had  witnessed 
the  whole  of  the  battle,  and  been  one  of  the  chief  heroes 
of  the  hour.  Napoleon,  whom  he  had  never  seen,  he  de- 
scribed minutely,  and  the  inhabitants  of  Airlie  had  learned 
to  picture  the  rage  and  mortification  visible  on  the  face 
of  the  great  commander  when  he  saw  Neil  rushing  on  to 
victory  over  the  dead  bodies  of  three  French  grenadiers, 
whom  the  hardy  Highlander  had  overcome.  Waterloo 
had  grown  to  be  a  great  panorama  for  him ;  and  he  would 
unroll  it  at  any  moment,  and  name  you  every  object  and 
person  in  the  picture. 

He  was  the  village  musician,  too,  and  was  in  much 


2 3  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

request  at  balls,  marriages,  and  other  celebrations.  The 
old  man  was  singularly  sensitive  to  music,  and  the  wicked 
boys  of  the  village  used  to  practise  on  his  weakness.  When 
they  saw  the  Pensioner  out  walking,  they  would  begin 
to  whistle  some  military  march,  "  The  Campbells  are 
coming,"  "  The  girl  I  left  behind  me,"  or  "  What's  a'  the 
steer,  kimmer,''and  you  could  see  the  Pensioner  draw 
himself  up,  and  go  on  with  a  military  swagger,  with  his 
head  erect.  As  for  his  own  musical  efforts,  was  there 
anybody  in  all  the  breadth  of  Ayreshire  who  could  play 
"  TheEast  Neuk  o'  Fife  "  with  such  tremendous  "spunk  ?  * 

When  the  Pensioner  was  told  that  he  had  to  play  to 
a  young  French  lady,  he  was  a  proud  man. 

"  Ye  will  na  sink,"  he  observed  to  the  Whaup  in  his 
curious  jumble  of  Lowland  and  Highland  pronunciation, 
4<  sat  I  will  hurt  sa  leddy's  feelins.  No.  Our  prave  re- 
giments sent  sa  French  fleein'  at  Waterloo ;  but  I  will 
speak  jist  nae  word  apoot  it.  I  sweer  till't — she  will  not 
even  pe  sinkin  I  wass  at  Waterloo." 

Coquette  received  him  graciously  ;  the  old  High- 
lander was  respectful,  and  yet  dignified,  in  return.  He 
gently  declined  to  show  her  his  medal,  fearful  that  the 
word  "  Waterloo  "  would  pain  her.  He  would  not  utter 
a  syllable  about  his  soldiering ;  was  it  good  manners  to 
insult  a  beaten  foe  ? 

But  he  would  play  for  her.  He  took  his  riddle  from 
its  case,  and  sat  down,  and  played  her  all  manner  of  reels 
and  strathspeys,  but  no  military  music. 

"Wha  will  ken,"  he  whispered  significantly  to  the 
Whaup,  "  put  sat  she  will  have  heard  o'  our  victorious 
tunes  ?  Na,  na.  Neil  Lamont  kens  how  to  pehave 
himsel'  to  a  leddy." 

And,  in  return,  Coquette  sat  down  to  the  piano. 
There  was  one  Scotch  air,  "  Wha'll  be  King  but  Charlie  " 
which  her  father  was  particularly  fond  of.  When  she 
struck  into  that  bold  and  stirring  piece  of  music,  with  all 
the  agencies  of  harmonious  chords,  the  old  Highlander 
sat  at  first  apparently  stupefied.  He  had  never  known 
the  majesty  and  the  power  that  could  be  lent  to  the  tune 
which  boys  played  on  penny  whistles.  But  as  he  became 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HE  TIT. 


39 


familiar  with  the  rich  and  splendid  sounds,  he  became 
more  and  more  excited.  He  beat  time  with  his  foot ; 
he  slapped  his  thigh  with  his  hand  ;  he  kept  his  head 
erect,  and  looked  defiance.  Suddenly  he  seemed  to  for- 
get the  presence  of  the  Whaup,  wno  was  seated  in  a 
corner,  he  started  to  his  feet,  and  began  pacing  up  and 
down  the  room,  waving  the  bow  of  his  violin  as  if  it 
were  a  sword.  And  all  at  once  Coquette  heard  behind 
her  the  shrill  and  quavering  notes  of  an  old  man's 
voice, — 

"  Come  ower  sa  heather!  come  a'  tagetherf 
Come  Ronald,  an'  Tonald,  an'  a'  tagether !  " 

and  when  she  turned  around,  the  old  Highlandman,  as 
one  possessed,  was  marching  up  and  down  the  chamber 
with  his  head  high  in  the  air,  and  tears  running  down 
his  withered  gray  cheeks, 

"  Thug  thu  braigh-gJiill  air  na  chualadh  mi  riamh" 
he  cried,  as  he  sank  shamefacedly  into  a  chair.  "  1  have 
never  heard  sa  like  o'  sat  not  since  sa  day  I  will  pe 
porn  !  " 


CHAPTER  VI. 

EARLSHOPE. 

How  sweet  and  bright  and  grc^n  looked  the  grounds 
of  Earlshope  on  the  next  day,  wiien  Mr.  Cassilis  and 
Coquette  drew  near !  The  warm  sun  had  come  out 
again,  and  the  air  was  fragrant  with  the  scent  of  the  wet 
trees.  Masses  of  white  cloud  still  came  up  from  the 
south,  sweeping  over  the  dark,  clear  blue  of  the  sky  ;  and 
the  peaks  of  Arran,  set  far  amid  the  sea,  were  pale  and 
faint  in  a  haze  of  yellow  light. 

Coquette  was  merry-hearted.  The  sunshine  seemed 
to  please  her  as  it  pleased  the  butterflies  and  the  bees 


4o  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

that  were  again  abroad.  As  she  went  down  the  moor- 
land road  she  laughed  and  chatted  with  the  Minister, 
and  was  constantly,  out  of  pure  lightness  of  heart,  break- 
ing into  merry  exclamations  in  her  native  tongue  ;  on 
which  she  would  suddenly  recall  herself  with  a  pout  of 
impatience  and  resume  her  odd  and  quaint  English  talk. 

The  Whaup  had  been  ill-tempered  on  setting  out  ; 
but  the  sunlight  and  the  bright  life  around  him  thawed 
his  sulkiness,  and  he  became  merely  mischievous.  His 
brothers  perceived  his  mood,  and  kept  out  of  his  way. 
He  was  in  the  humor  for  rather  rough  practical  jokes  ; 
and  no  one  of  them  wished  to  be  tripped  up  and  sent 
into  the  red-colored  "  burn  "  that  still  ran  down  between 
the  moor  and  the  road  to  the  little  stream  in  the  hollow 

When  they  had  passed  the  keeper's  lodge,  and  gone 
under  a  winding  avenue  of  trees,  they  came  in  sight  of 
the  big  stone  building  and  the  bright  green  lawn  in  front 
of  it.  They  also  saw  their  host  seated  beside  a  stone 
lion,  smoking  a  cigar,  and  watching  the  operations  of  a 
lad  who,  mounted  on  the  pedestal  of  a  statue  of  Venus, 
was  busily  engaged  in  giving  that  modest  but  scantily 
clad  young  woman  a  coating  of  white  paint. 

"  Did  you  ever  see  anything  so  curious  ? "  he  said, 
when  he  had  bade  them  welcome.  "  Look  at  the  rude 
indifference  with  which  he  comes  over  her  nose,  and 
gives  her  a  slap  on  the  cheek,  and  tickles  her  neck  with 
his  brush  !  I  have  been  wondering  what  she  would  do 
if  she  were  alive — whether  she  would  scream  and  run 
away,  or  rise  up  in  indignant  silence,  or  give  him  a  sound 
box  on  the  ears." 

"  If  she  were  to  come  alive,"  said  Coquette,  "  he 
would  be  made  blind  with  fear,  and  she  would  fly  up  into 
the  skies." 

"  Et  procul  in  tenuem  ex  oculis  evanuit  auram"  said 
the  Minister,  graciously,  with  a  smile.  He  had  not  aired 
so  much  Latin  for  years. 

They  had  a  walk  round  the  grounds,  skirting  the  not 
very  extensive  park,  before  they  turned  into  the  garden. 
Here  everything  was  heavy  with  perfume  in  the  sweet, 
warm  air.  They  went  into  the  hot-house  and  vineries  * 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  Il£7'ff.  4, 

and  Lord  Earlshope  found  a  bunch  of  muscatel  grapes 
ripe  enough  to  be  cut  for  Coquette.  No  sooner  had  she 
placed  one  between  her  lips  than  she  cried  out, — 

"  Oh,  how  like  to  the  wine  !     I  have  not  tasted — " 

She  looked  at  the  Minister,  and  hastily  stopped  hei 
speech. 

"  You  have  not  tasted  muscatel  grapes  in  this  coun- 
try," said  Lord  Earlshope,  coming  to  her  relief ;  and  he 
looked  at  her  with  a  peculiar  smile,  as  much  as  to  say, 
"  I  know  you  meant  wine." 

The  boys  preferring  to  remain  in  the  garden  (the 
Whaup  walked  off  by  himself  into  the  park,  under  pre- 
tence of  seeking  a  peculiar  species  of  Potentilld],  Lord 
Earlshope  led  his  two  principal  guests  back  to  the  house, 
and  proceeded  to  show  them  its  curiosities  in  the  way 
of  pictures,  old  armor,  old  furniture,  and  the  like.  Co- 
quette got  so  familiarized  to  his  voice  and  look  that  she 
forgot  he  was  but  a  distant  acquaintance.  She  did  not 
know  that  she  stared  at  him  while  he  was  talking,  or  that 
she  spoke  to  him  with  a  pleasant  carelessness  which  was 
oddly  out  of  keeping  with  the  Minister's  grave  and  for- 
mal courtesy.  She  was  not  even  aware  that  she  was 
taking  note  of  his  appearance  ;  and  that,  after  they  had 
left,  she  would  be  able  to  recall  every  lineament  in  his 
face  and  every  tone  of  his  voice. 

Lord  Earlshope  was  a  fair-haired,  gentlemanly  look- 
ing young  man,  of  some  twenty-six  or  twenty-eight  years 
of  age.  He  was  rather  over  the  middle  height,  slirnly 
built,  and  inclined  to  lounge  carelessly.  The  expression 
of  his  eyes,  which  were  large,  gray,  and  clear,  varied 
singularly — at  one  time  being  full  of  a  critical  and  some- 
what cold  scrutiny,  and  at  other  times  pensive  and  dis- 
tant. He  said  he  had  no  politics  and  no  prejudices — un- 
less a  very  definite  belief  in  "  blood  "  could  be  considered 
a  prejudice. 

"  It  is  no  superstition  with  me,"  he  said  to  the  Min- 
ister, as  the  latter  was  examining  a  s-trange  old  family 
tree  hung  up  in  the  library.  "  I  merely  think  it  impru- 
dent for  a  man  of  good  family  to  marry  out  of  his  own 
class.  I  have  seen  the  experiment  made  by  some  of  my 


±2  A -DAUGHTER  OF  UETII. 

own  acquaintances ;  and,  as  a  rule,  the  result  has  been 
disastrous.  The  bad  breeding  comes  out  sooner  or  later. 

Look  at  the family.  The  late  Duke  married  in 

Paris  a  woman  nobody  had  heard  of.  She  was  appar- 
ently a  respectable  sort  of  person — but  you  see  that  every 
one  of  the  sons  has  gone  to  the  dogs,  and  there  isn't  a 
tree  belonging  to  the  family.  A  man  who  inherits  an 
historical  name  owes  something  to  his  forefathers,  and 
has  no  right  to  risk  the  reputation  of  his  family  by  hu- 
moring his  own  whims.  I  do  not  think  I  shall  ever 
marry  ;  for  I  am  too  poor  to  marry  a  woman  of  my  own 
station,  and  too  proud  to  marry  a  woman  who  may  turn 
out  to  have  inherited  bad  qualities  from  her  ancestors." 

Coquette  came  back  at  this  moment  from  the  book- 
shelves, with  a  large  thin  quarto  in  her  hands. 

"  Look  what  I  have  found,"  she  said.  "  A  volume  of 
curious  old  chants." 

"It  is  treasure-trove,"  said  Lord  Earlshope.  "I  had 
no  idea  there  was  such  a  book  in  the  place.  Shall  we 
go  and  try  some  of  them  ?  You  know  you  promised  to 
give  me  your  opinion  of  the  organ  I  have  fitted  up." 

"  I  did  not  promise  it,  but  I  will  do  it,"  said  Coquette. 

He  led  the  way  downstairs  to  the  drawing-room  which 
they  had  not  yet  visited.  The  tall  chamber-organ,  a 
handsome  and  richly  decorated  instrument,  stood  in  a 
recess  in  the  middle  of  the  long  apartment,  and  therefore 
did  not  seem  so  cumbrous  an  appanage  to  a  room  as  it 
might  otherwise  have  done. 

"  The  defect  of  the  organ,"  said  Lord  Earlshope,  as 
he  placed  the  music  for  her,  "  is  that  the  operation  of 
blowing  the  bellows  is  performed  in  sight  of  the  public. 
You  see,  I  must  fix  in  this  handle,  and  work  it  while  you 
are  playing." 

"  You  must  get  a  screen,"  she  said,  "  and  put  a  ser- 
vant there." 

"  While  you  are  playing,"  he  said,  "  I  could  not  let 
anybody  else  assist  you  even  in  so  rude  a  fashion." 

Coquette  laughed  and  sat  down.  Presently  the  sol- 
emn tones  of  the  organ  were  pealing  out  a  rich  and  beau- 
tiful chant,  full  of  the  quaint  and  impressive  harmonies 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HE  TIT. 


43 


which  the  monks  of  old  had  pondered  over  and  elaborated. 
If  Mr.  Cassilis  was  troubled  by  a  suspicion  that  this 
noble  music  was  of  distinctly  Roman  Catholic  or  idola- 
trous origin,  that  doubt  became  a  certainty  when,  at  the 
end  of  the  chant,  there  came  a  long  and  wailing  "Amen  !  " 
rolled  out  by  the  organ's  deep  voice. 

"  You  play  excellently ,  you  must  be  familiar  with 
organ-playing,"  said  Lord  Earlshope.  "  It  is  not  every 
one  who  knows  the  piano  who  can  perform  on  an  organ," 

"At  home  the  old  cute  used  to  let  me  play  in  the 
church/'  she  said,  with  her  eyes  grown  suddenly  distant 
and  sad.  She  had  remembered  that  her  home  no  longef 
lay  away  down  there  in  the  south,  where  life  seemed  so 
pleasant. 

"  Come,"  said  Lord  Earlshope,  "  I  hear  my  hench- 
man Sandy  about  to  ring  the  bell  for  luncheon.  Shall 
we  go  into  the  f  oom  at  once,  or  wait  for  the  boys  ? " 

"  They  will  have  their  luncheon  off  your  fruit-trees, 
I  am  afraid,"  said  Mr.  Cassilis. 

Nevertheless  the  boys  were  sent  for,  and  arrived, 
looking  rather  afraid.  The  Whaup  was  not  with  them  ; 
no  one  knew  whither  he  had  gone. 

Lord  Earlshope's  household  was  far  from  being  an 
extensive  one  ;  and  Mr.  Cassilis's  boys  found  themselves 
waited  on  by  two  maid-servants  who  were  well  known  to 
them  as  having  been  made  the  subject  of  many  tricks  ; 
while  Sandy,  his  lordship's  valet,  butler,  courier,  and 
general  factotum,  a  tall  and  red-headed  Scotchman, 
who,  by  reason  of  his  foreign  travels,  had  acquired  a  pro- 
found contempt  for  everything  in  his  own  country, 
approached  Miss  Cassilis  with  a  lofty  air,  and,  standing 
behind  her  at  a  great  distance  from  the  table,  extended 
a  bottle  of  Chablis  so  as  to  reach  her  glass. 

"Miss  Cassilis,"  said  Lord  Earlshope,  "what  wine 
will  remind  yo  i  most  of  the  Loire  ?" 

It  had  been  her  own  thought,  and  she  looked  up  with 
a  quick  and  grateful  smile. 

"  My  father  left  me  a  fair  assortment  of  Bordeaux 
wines " 


44  A  DAUGHTER  OF  IIETIf. 

"  But  no  vin  ordinaire'^  she  said  with  another  bright 
look. 

"  I  must  go  myself  to  get  you  that,"  he  said,  laugh- 
ing ;  "  Sandy  does  riot  know  how  to  manufacture  it." 

Before  she  could  protest  he  had  left  the  room,  and  in 
a  few  minutes  he  had  returned  with  a  bottle  in  his  hand, 
and  with  the  air  of  a  conjurer  on  his  face.  He  himself 
filled  her  glass,  and  Coquette  drank  a  little  of  it. 

"Ah  !  "  she  said,  clasping  her  hands,  "  I  think  I  can 
hear  old  Nanette  talking  outside,  and  the  river  running 
underneath  us ;  it  is  like  being  at  home — as  if  I  were  at 
home  again  !  " 

She  fondled  the  glass  as  if  it  were  a  magical  talisman 
that  had  transported  her  over  the  sea,  and  would  have  to 
bring  her  back. 

"  I  must  taste  some  of  that  wizard  wine,"  said  the 
Minister,  with  a  humorous  smile,  and  the  boys  stared 
with  wonder  to  hear  their  father  talk  about  drinking 
wine. 

"Pray  don't,  Mr.  Cassilis,"  said  their  host,  with  a 
laugh.  "  It  is  merely  some  new  and  rough  claret  to 
which  I  added  a  little  water ;  the  nearest  approximation 
to  vin  ordinaire  I  could  think  of.  Since  your  niece  is  so 
pleased  with  the  Earl sh ope  vintage,  I  think  I  must  ask 
you  to  let  me  send  her  a  supply  to  the  Manse.  It  is 
quite  impossible  you  can  get  it  elsewhere,  as  I  keep  the 
recipe  in  my  own  hands." 

"And  this  is  French  bread  !  "  said  Coquette,  startled 
out  of  her  good  manners  by  perceiving  before  her  along, 
narrow,  brown  loaf. 

"  Have  I  been  so  fortunate  as  to  create  another  sur- 
prise ?  "  said  Lord  Earlshope.  "  I  telegraphed  for  that 
bread  to  Glasgow,  if  I  must  tell  you  all  my  housekeeping 
secrets." 

Tt  soon  became  clear  that  the  indolent  young  man, 
having  nothing  better  to  do,  had  laid  his  plans  to  get  a 
thoroughly  French  repast  prepared  for  Coquette.  Every 
little  dish  that  was  offered  her — the  red  mullet,  the  bit 
of  fowl,  the  dry  boiled  beef  and  thick  sauce,  the  plate  of 
salad — was  another  wonder  and  another  reminiscence  of 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HE  TIT. 


45 


the  south.  Why,  it  was  only  a  few  days  since  she  had 
arrived  in  Scotland,  and  yet  it  seemed  ages  since  she  had 
sat  down  to  such  another  pretty  French  breakfast  as  this 
practically  was.  She  sipped  her  vin  ordinaire,  and  toyed 
with  the  various  dishes  that  were  offered  her — accepting 
all,  and  taking  a  little  bit  of  each  for  the  very  pleasure  of 
"  thinking  back  "  with  such  evident  delight  that  even  Mr. 
Cassilis  smiled  benignantly.  The  boys  at  the  Manse, 
like  other  boys  in  Scotland,  had  been  taught  that  it  was 
rather  ignominious  to  experience  or  exhibit  any  enjoy- 
ment in  the  vulgar  delights  of  eating  and  drinking ;  but 
surely  in  the  pleased  surprise  with  which  Coquette  re- 
garded the  French  table  around  her  there  was  little  of 
the  sensuous  satisfaction  of  the  gourmand. 

She  was  fairly  charmed  with  this  visit  to  Earlshope. 
As  they  went  back  to  the  Manse,  she  was  in  the  most 
cheerful  of  moods,  and  quite  fascinated  the  grave  Minis- 
ter with  her  quaint,  broken  talk.  She  never  ceased  to 
speak  of  the  place,  of  its  grounds  and  gardens  and  books, 
and  what  not,  even  to  the  brightness  of  the  atmosphere 
around  it ;  until  Mr.  Cassilis  asked  her  if  she  thought 
the  sky  was  blue  only  over  Earlshope. 

"  But  I  hope  he  will  not  send  the  wine  ;  it  was  a— 
what  you  call  it  ?  joke,  was  it  not  ?  "  she  said. 

"  A  joke,  of  course,"  said  Mr.  Cassilis.  "  We  are 
very  proud  in  this  country,  and  do  not  take  presents  from 
rich  people." 

"  But  I  am  not  of  your  country,"  she  said,  with  a 
laugh.  "  If  he  sends  his  stupid  vin  ordinaire,  he  sends 
it  to  me  ;  and  I  will  not  drink  it ;  you  shall  drink  it  all. 
Did  he  say  he  is  coming  over  to  see  you  soon  ? " 

"Well,  no,"  replied  the  Minister;  "but  since  the  ice 
is  broken,  nothing  is  more  likely." 

The  phrase  about  the  ice  puzzled  Coquette  much  : 
when  it  had  been  explained  to  her,  they  had  already 
reached  the  Manse.  But  where  was  the  Whaup  ?  No* 
body  had  seen  him. 


4.6  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE  CRUCIFIX. 

"  I  AM  going  to  sea,"  said  the  Whaup,  suddenly  pre- 
senting himself  before  Coquette.  She  looked  up  with 
her  soft  dark  eyes,  and  said> — 

"  Why  you  go  to  sea  ? " 

"  Because,"  said  the  Whaup,  evidently  casting  about 
for  an  excuse,  "  because  the  men  of  this  country  should 
be  a. seafaring  race,  as  their  forefathers  were.  We  can- 
not all  be  living  in  big  towns,  and  becoming  clerks.  I 
am  for  a  hardier  life.  I  am  sick  of  staying  at  home.  I 
cannot  bear  this  idling  any  more.  I  have  been  down  to 
the  coast,  and  when  I  smell  the  salt  air,  and  see  the 
waves  come  tumbling  on  the  coast,  I  hate  to  turn  my 
face  inland." 

There  was  a  sort  of  shamefaced  enthusiasm  in  the 
lad's  manner ;  and  Coquette,  as  she  again  looked  up  at 
him,  perceived  that,  although  he  believed  all  that  he  had 
said,  that  was  not  the  cause  of  his  hasty  determination. 
Yet  the  boy  looked  every  inch  a  sailor ;  the  sun-brown 
hair  thrown  back  from  his  handsome  face,  and  the  clear 
moorland  light  shining  in  his  blue  eyes. 

"  There  is  something  else,"  said  the  girl.  "  Why  you 
say  nothing  of  all  this  before  ?  Why  you  must  wish  to 
become  a  sailor  all  at  once  ?  " 

"  And,  if  I  must  tell  you,"  said  he,  with  a  sudden 
fierceness,  "  I  will.  I  don't  choose,  to  stay  here  to  see 
what  I  know  will  happen.  You  are  surprised,  perhaps  ? 
But  you  are  a  mere  child.  You  have  been  brought  up 
in  a  French  convent,  or  some  such  place.  You  think 
everybody  in  the  world  is  like  yourself,  and  you  make 
friends  with  anybody.  You  think  they  are  all  as  good 
and  as  kind  as  yourself  ;  and  you  are  so  light-hearted, 
you  never  stop  to  think  or  to  suspect.  Enough  ;  you 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETIL  47 

may  go  on  your  way,  in  spite  of  warning ;  but  I  will  not 
remain  here  to  see  my  family  disgraced  by  your  becom- 
ing the  friend  and  companion  of  a  man  like  Lord  Earls- 
hope." 

He  spoke  warmly  and  indignantly,  and  the  girl 
rather  cowed  before  him,  until  he  uttered  the  fatal  word 
«  disgrace." 

"  Disgrace  !  "  she  repeated,  and  a  quick  light  sprang 
to  her  eyes.  "  I  have  disgraced  no  one,  not  any  time  in 
my  life.  I  will  choose  my  own  friends,  and  I  will  not 
be  suspicious.  You  are  worse  than  the  woman  here : 
she  wants  me  to  believe  myself  bad  and  wicked.  Per- 
haps I  am,  I  do  not  know,  but  I  will  not  begin  to  sus- 
pect my  friends  of  being  bad.  If  he  is  so  bad,  why 
does  your  father  go  to  his  house  ?" 

"  My  father  is  as  simple  as  you  are,"  said  the  Whaup, 
contemptuously. 

"  Then  it  is  only  you  are  suspicious  ?  I  did  not 
think  it  of  you." 

She  looked  hurt  and  vexed,  and  a  great  compunc- 
tion filled  the  heart  of  the  Whaup. 

"  Look  here,"  he  said,  firmly  (and  in  much  better 
English  than  was  customary  with  him),  "you  are  my 
cousin,  and  it  is  my  business  to  warn  you  when  you  are 
likely  to  get  into  trouble.  But  don't  imagine  I'm  going 
to  persecute  you.  No.  You  may  do  as  you  like.  Per- 
haps you  are  quite  right.  Perhaps  it  is  only  that  I  am 
suspicious.  But,  as  you  are  my  cousin,  I  don't  wish  to 
stand  by  and  see  what  is  likely  to  come,  and  so  I  am 
going  off.  The  sea  will  suit  me  better  than  a  college 
life,  or  a  doctor's  shop,  or  a  pulpit." 

Coquette  rose  from  her  seat,  and  began  to  walk  up 
and  down  the  room  in  deep  distress. 

"  I  must  go,"  she  said  ;  "  it  is  I  who  must  go  away 
from  here.  I  bring  wretchedness  when  I  come  here  ; 
my  friends  are  made  miserable  ;  it  is  my  fault,  I  should 
not  have  come.  In  France  I  was  very  happy,  they 
used  to  call  me  the  peacemaker  at  school — and  all  the 
people  there  were  cheerful  and  kind.  Here  I  am  wicked, 
I  do  not  know  how,  and  the  cause  of  contention  and 


48  A  DAUGHTER  OF  UETH. 

pain.  Ah,  why  you  go  away  because  of  me  !  "  she  sud- 
denly exclaimed,  as  she  took  his  hand,  while  tears 
started  to  her  eyes.  "  It  does  not  matter  to  me  if  I  go  ; 
I  am  nobody  ;  I  have  no  home  to  break  up.  I  can  go 
away,  and  nobody  be  the  worse." 

"  Perhaps  it  is  the  best  thing  you  can  do,"  he  said 
frankly.  "But  if  you  go,  I  will  go  with  you — to  take 
care  of  you." 

Coquette  laughed. 

"  You  are  incomprehensible,"  she  said.  "  Why  not 
take  care  of  me  here  ?  " 

"  Will  you  give  me  that  duty  ?  "  he  asked,  calmly. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  with  a  bright  smile,  "you  shall 
take  care  of  me  as  much — as  much  as  you  can." 

"  Mind,  it  is  no  joke,"  said  he.  "  If  I  resolve  to 
take  care  of  you,  I  will  do  it ;  and  anybody  interfer- 
ing  " 

He  did  not  finish  the  sentence. 

"  You  will  fight  for  me  ? "  she  said,  putting  her 
hand  on  his  arm,  and  leading  him  over  to  the  window. 
"  Do  you  see  those  clouds  away  over  the  sea ;  how  they 
come  on,  and  on,  and  go  away  ?  These  are  the  moods 
of  a  man,  his  promises,  his  intentions.  But  overhead 
do  you  see  the  blue  sky  ?  that  is  the  patience  of  a  wo- 
man. Sometimes  the  clouds  are  dark,  sometimes  white, 
but  the  sky  is  always  the  same  :  is  it  not  ? " 

"  H'm  ! ''  said  the  Whaup,  with  a  touch  of  scorn, 
"  that  is  the  romantic  stuff  they  teach  you  at  your 
French  school,  is  it  ?  It  is  very  pretty,  but  it  isn't  true. 
A  man  has  more  patience  and  more  steadfastness  than 
a  woman.  What  you  meant  was,  I  suppose,  that  what- 
ever I  might  be  to  you,  you  would  always  be  the  same 
to  me.  Perhaps  so.  We  shall  see  in  a  few  years. 
But  you  will  never  find  any  difference  in  me,  after  any 
number  of  years,  if  you  want  somebody  to  take  your 
part.  You  may  remember  what  I  say  now  afterwards." 

"I  think  I  could  always  trust  you,"  she  said,  looking 
rather  wistfully  at  him  with  those  dark  eyes  that  he  had 
almost  ceased  to  regard  as  foreign  and  strange.  "  You 
have  been  very  good  to  me  since  I  came  here.'' 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 


49 


"  And  I  have  found  out  something  new  for  you,"  he 
said,  eagerly  ;  so  glad  was  he  to  fix  and  establish  those 
amicable  relations.  "  I  hear  you  were  pleased  because 
Lord  Earlshope  had  French  things  for  you  to  eat  and 
drink  ? ?r 

"  Yes,  I  was  pleased,"  she  said,  timidly,  and  look- 
ing down. 

"  But  you  don't  know  that  there  is  a  town  close  ty 
here  as  like  St.  Nazaire  as  it  can  be  :  wouldnaye  like  to 
see  that  ? " 

"  It  is  impossible,"  she  said.1 

"  Come  and  see,"  he  replied. 

Coquette  very  speedily  discovered  that  the  Whaup 
refusing  to  accept  of  Lord  Earlshope's  invitation,  had 
gone  off  by  himself  on  a  visit  to  Saltcoats  ;  that  he  had 
fallen  in  with  some  sailors  there  :  that  he  had  begun 
talking  with  them  of  France  and  of  the  French  seaports; 
and  that  one  of  the  men  had  delighted  him  by  saying 
that  on  one  side  the  very  town  he  was  in  resembled  the 
old  place  at  the  mouth  of  the  Loire.  Of  course  Miss 
Coquette  was  in  great  anxiety  to  know  where  this 
favored  town  was  situated,  and  would  at  once  have  • 
started  off  in  quest  of  it. 

"  Let  us  go  up  to  your  parlor,  and  I  will  show  it  to 
you,"  said  the  Whaup. 

So  they  went  upstairs,  and  went  to  the  window.  It 
was  getting  towards  the  afternoon,  and  a  warm  light 
from  the  southwest  lay  over  the  fair  yellow  country, 
with  its  dark  lines  of  hedge  and  copse,  its  ruddy  streaks 
of  sand,  and  the  distant  glimmer  of  a  river.  Seaward 
there  was  a  lowering  which  presaged  a  storm  ;  and  the 
black  line  of  the  Saltcoats  houses  fronted  a  plain  of  water 
which  had  a  peculiar  light  shining  along  its  surface. 

"That  is  the  town,"  said  the  Whaup,  pointing  with 
a  calm  air  of  pride  to  Saltcoats. 

"  I  see  nothing  but  a  line  of  slates,  and  a  church 
that  seems  to  stand  out  in  the  sea,"  said  Coquette,  with 
some  disappointment. 

"  But  you  must  go  near  to  see  the  old  stone  wall, 
and  the  houses  built  over  it,  and  the  pier  and  harbor." 


50  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

"  Ah.  is  it  like  that  ?  "  cried  his  companion,  clasping 
her  hands.  "  Is  it  like  St.  Nazaire  ?  Are  there  boats  ? 
and  an  old  church  ?  and  narrow  streets  ?  Oh,  do  let 
us  go  there  now  !  " 

"  Would  you  rather  see  that  than  drink  Lord  Earls- 
hope's  vin  ordinaire?"  said  the  Whaup,  with  a  cold 
severity. 

"  Pah  !  "  she  cried,  petulantly.  "  You  do  give  me  no 
peace  with  your  Lord  Earlshope.  I  wish  you  would 
fight  him,  not  frighten  me  with  such  nonsense.  I  will 
believe  you  are  jealous  you  stupid  boy.  But  if  you 
will  take  me  to  St.  Nazaire,  to  this  place,  I  will  for- 
give you  everything,  and  I  will — what  can  I  do  for  you  ! 
I  will  kiss  you, I  will  sew  a  hankerchief  for  you,  any- 
thing." 

The  Whaup  blushed  very  red,  but  frowned  all  the 
same. 

"  I  will  take  you  to  Saltcoats,"  said  he  ;  "  but  we  in 
this  country  don't  like  young  ladies  to  be  so  free  with 
their  favors  " 

Coquette  looked  rather  taken  down,  and  only  ven- 
tured to  say,  by  way  of  submissive  apology, — 

"  You  are  my  cousin,  you  know." 

They  were  about  to  slip  out  of  the  house  unper- 
ceived,  when  Leezibeth  confronted  them. 

"  Beg  your  pardon,  Miss,  but  I  would  like  to  hae  a 
word  wi'  ye,"  she  said,  in  a  determined  tone,  as  she 
blocked  up  their  way. 

The  Whaup  began  to  look  fierce. 

"  It  is  seventeen  years  come  Michaelmas,"  said 
Leezibeth,  in  set  and  measured  tones,  "since  I  cam'  to 
this  house,  and  a  pious  and  God-fearing  house  it  has 
been,  as  naebody,  will  gainsay.  We  who  are  but  ser- 
vants have  done  our  pairt,  I  hope,  to  preserve  its  chai- 
acter ;  though  in  His  sight  there  are  nae  servants  and 
nae  masters,  for  He  poureth  contempt  upon  princes, 
and  causeth  them  to  wander  in  the  wilderness,  and  yet 
setteth  the  poor  on  high  from  affliction,  and  maketh 
Him  families  like  a  flock.  I  wouldna  distinguish  be- 
tween master  and  servant  in  the  house  ;  but  when  the 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH.  ^ 

master  is  blind  to  the  things  of  his  household,  then  it 
would  ill  become  an  honest  servant,  not  afraid  to  give 
her  testimony " 

"  Leezibeth,"  said  the  Whaup,  "  your  talk  is  like 
a  crop  o'  grass  after  three  months'  rain.  It's  good 
for  neither  man  or  beast,  being  but  a  blash  o  water" 

"  As  for  ye,  sir,"  retorted  Leezibeth,  angrily,  "  it  was 
an  ill  day  for  ye  that  ye  turned  aside  to  dangle  after  an 
idle  woman — " 

"  As  sure  as  daith,  Leezibeth,"  said  the  Whaup,  in 
his  strongest  vernacular,  "  I'll  gar  ye  gang  skelpin' 
through  the  air  like  a  splinter,  if  ye  dinna  keep  a  civil 
tongue  in  your  head." 

"  But  what  is  it  all  about  ?  "  said  Coquette,  in  deep 
dismay.  "  What  have  I  done  ?  Have  I  done  any  more 
wrong  ?  I  know  not ;  you  must  tell  me " 

"  And  is  it  not  true,  Miss,"  said  Leezibeth,  fixing 
her  keen  gray  eye  on  the  culprit,  "  that  ye  daur  to  keep 
a  crucifix,  the  symbol  of  the  woman  that  sits  on  seven 
hills,  right  over  your  head  in  your  bed ;  and  have  in- 
troduced this  polluting  thing  into  an  honest  man's  house, 
to  work  wickedness  wi',  and  set  a  snare  before  our 
feet?" 

"  I  do  not  know  what  you  mean  by  seven  hills,  or  a 
woman,"  said  Coquette,  humbly.  "  I  thought  the  cross 
was  a  symbol  of  all  religion.  If  it  annoys  you,  I  will 
take  it  down  ;  but  my  mother  gave  it  to  me  ;  I  cannot 
put  it  away  altogether.  I  will  hide  it,  if  it  annoys  you  ; 
but  I  cannot,  surely  you  will  not  ask  me  to  part  with 
it  altogether " 

"  You  shall  not  part  with  it,"  said  the  Whaup,  draw- 
ing himself  up  to  his  full  height.  "  Let  me  see  the  man 
or  woman  who  will  touch  that  crucifix,  though  it  had  on 
it  the  woman  o'  Babylon  herself  !  " 

Leezibeth  looked  dazed  for  a  moment.  It  was  almost 
impossible  that  such  words  should  have  been  uttered 
by  the  eldest  son  of  the  Minister,  and  for  a  moment  she 
was  inclined  to  disbelieve  the  testimony  of  her  ears.  Yet 
there  before  her  stood  the  lad,  tall,  proud,  handsome,  and 
with  his  eyes  burning  and  his  teeth  set.  And  there  be- 


52 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 


side  him  stooa  the  witch-woman  who  had  wrought  this 
perversion  in  him ;  who  had  come  to  work  destruction 
in  this  quiet  fold. 

"  I  maun  gang  to  the  Minister,"  said  Leezibeth,  in  des- 
pair. "  Andrew  and  I  maun  settle  this  maitter,  or  else 
set  out,  in  our  auld  age,  for  a  new  resting-place." 

"And  the  sooner  the  Manse  is  rid  of  two  cantanker- 
ous old  idiots  the  better  ! "  said  the  Whaup. 

Leezibeth  bestowed  upon  him  a  glance  more  of  wonder 
and  fear  than  of  anger,  and  then  went  her  way. 

"  Come  !  "  said  the  Whaup  to  his  companion.  "  We 
maun  run  for  it,  or  we  shall  see  no  St.  Nazaire  this 
night." 

Then  Coquette,  feeling  very  guilty,  found  herself 
stealing  away  from  the  Manse,  led  by  the  Minister's 
dare-devil  son. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

SALTCOATS. 

THE  two  fugitives  fled  from  the  Manse,  and  crossed 
over  the  moor,  and  went  down  to  the  road  leading  to 
Salteoats,  in  very  diverse  moods.  The  Whaup  made 
light  of  the  affair  of  the  crucifix,  and  laughed  at  it  as  a 
good  joke.  Coquette  was  more  thoughtful,  and  a  trifle 
angry. 

"  This  is  too  much,"  she  said.  "  I  am  not  in  the 
habit  to  make  enemies,  and  I  cannot  live  like  this  ;  to  be 
looked  at  as  something  very  bad.  If  I  do  not  know  the 
feelings  of  your  country  about  music,  about  Sunday,  about 
religion,  and  it  seems  even  a  crime  that  I  shall  be  cheer- 
ful and  merry  at  times,  why  not  tell  me  instead  of  scold  ? 
I  will  do  what  they  want,  but  I  will  not  be  treated  like 
a  child.  It  is  too  much  this  Leesibess,  and  her  harsh 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH.  c, 

voice  and  her  scolding.  It  is  too  much,  it  is  not  bear- 
able,it  is  a  beastly  shame  !" 

"  A  what  ?  "  said  the  Whaup. 

"  A  beastly  shame,"  she  repeated,  looking  at  him 
rather  timidly. 

The  Whaup  burst  into  a  roar  of  laughter. 

"  Is  it  not  right  ?  v  she  said.  "  Papa  did  use  to  say 
that  when  he  was  indignant." 

"  Oh,  it  is  intelligible  enough,"  said  the  Whaup, 
"quite  intelligible  ;  but  young  ladies  in  this  country  do 
not  say  such  things." 

"  I  will  remember,"  said  Coquette,  obediently. 

The  Whaup  now  proceeded  to  point  out  to  his  com- 
panion that,  after  all,  there  was  a  good  deal  to  be  said  on 
the  side  of  Leezibeth  and  her  husband,  Andrew.  Co- 
quette, he  said,  had  given  them  some  cause  to  complain. 
The  people  of  the  Manse,  whom  Coquette  took  to  rep- 
resent the  people  of  the  country,  were  as  kindhearted 
as  people  anywhere  else  ;  but  they  had  their  customs, 
their  beliefs,  their  prejudices,  to  which  they  clung  tena- 
ciously (just  like  people  elsewhere  )  ;  and  especially  in 
this  matter  of  the  crucifix  she  had  wounded  their  feel- 
ings by  introducing  into  a  Protestant  manse  the  emblem 
of  a  religion  which  they  regarded  with  horror. 

"  But  why  is  it  that  you  regard  any  religion  with  hor- 
ror ?  "  said  Coquette.  "  If  it  is  religion,  I  think  it  cannot 
be  much  wicLed  ?  If  you  do  bring  some  Protestant  em- 
blem into  my  Catholic  church  I  shall  not  grumble  ;  I 
would  say,  we  all  believe  in  the  one  God  ;  you  may  have 
a  share  of  my  pew  ;  you  may  pray  just  beside  me ;  and 
we  all  look  to  the  one  Father  who  is  kind  to  us/' 

The  Whaup  shook  his  head. 

"  That  is  a  dangerous  notion  ;  but  I  cannot  argue 
with  you  about  it.  Everything  you  say,  everything  you 
do,  is  somehow  so  natural  and  fitting  and  easy  that  it 
seems  it  must  be  right.  It  is  all  a  part  of  yourself,  and 
ail  so  perfect  that  nobody  would  have  it  altered,  even  if 
you  were  wrong." 

"  You  do  say  that  ?  "  said  Coquette,  with  a  blush  of 
pleasure. 


54  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HE  TIL 

"  That  sort  of  vague  religious  sentiment  you  talk  o| 
would  be  contemptible  in  anybody  else,  you  know,"  said 
the  Whaup,  frankly,  "it  would  show  either  weakness  of 
reasoning,  or  indifference  ;  but  in  you  it  is  something 
that  makes  people  like  you.  Why,  I  have  watched  you 
again  and  again  in  the  parlor  at  the  manse  ;  and  whether 
you  let  your  hand  rest  on  the  table,  or  whether  you  look 
out  of  the  window,  or  whether  you  come  near  the  fire, 
you  are  always  easy  and  graceful.  It  is  a  gift  you  have 
of  making  yourself,  without  knowing  it,  a  picture.  When 
you  came  out,  I  thought  that  gray  woolly  shawl  round 
your  shoulders  was  pretty  ;  and  now  you  have  put  it  round 
your  head  it  is  quite  charming.  You  can't  help  it.  And 
so  you  can't  help  that  light  and  cheerful  way  of  looking 
at  religion,  and  of  being  happy  and  contented,  and  of 
making  yourself  a  pleasure  to  the  people  round  about 
you." 

Coquette  began  to  laugh  ;  and  the  Whaup  came  to  an 
uncomfortable  stop  in  the  midst  of  his  rapid  enthusiasm. 

"  When  you  talk  like  that,"  she  said,  "  I  think  I  am 
again  in  France,  I  am  so  light-hearted.  You  approve  of 
me,  then  ?  "  she  added,  timorously. 

Approve  of  her  !  Was  it  possible  that  she  could  care 
for  his  approval  ?  And  in  what  language  could  he  ex- 
press his  opinion  of  her  save  in  the  only  poetry  familiar 
to  Airlie  Manse  ?  "  The  King's  daughter  is  all  glorious 
within  :  her  clothing  is  of  wrought  gold.  She  shall  be 
brought  unto  the  King  in  raiment  of  needlework :  the 
virgins  her  companions  that  follow  her  shall  be  brought 
unto  thee.  With  gladness  and  rejoicing  shall  they  be 
brought :  they  shall  enter  into  the  King's  palace."  Only 
this  King's  daughter  was  without  companions,  she  was 
all  alone  ;  and  the  Whaup  wondered  how  this  pure  and 
strange  jewel  came  to  be  dropped  in  the  centre  of  a 
Scotch  moor. 

The  wind  was  blowing  hard  from  the  southwest ;  the 
region  of  rain.  Arran  was  invisible  ;  and  in  place  of  the 
misty  peaks  there  was  a  great  wall  of  leaden-gray  sky, 
from  the  base  of  which  came  lines  and  lines  of  white 
waves,  roaring  in  to  the  shore.  Coquette  drew  her  thick 


A  DA  UGH'l  £ K  OF  HE  777.  5  5 

gray  plaid  more  closely  around  her,  and  pressed  on,  for 
St.  Nazaire  now  lay  underneath  them,  a  dark  line  of 
houses  between  the  sea  and  the  land. 

"  What  is  that  woman,"  said  Coquette,  looking  along 
the  road,  "  who  stands  with  the  flowers  in  her  hand,  and 
her  hair  flying  ?  Is  she  mad  ?  Is  she  Ophelia  come  to 
Scotland  ?  " 

Mad  enough  the  girl  looked  ;  for  as  they  came  up  to 
her  they  found  her  a  bonnie  Scotch  lass  of  sixteen 
or  seventeen,  who  sobbed  at  intervals,  and  kept  cast- 
ing tearful  glances  all  around  her.  She  carried  in  one 
hand  her  bonnet,  in  the  other  a  bunch  of  flowers  ;  and 
the  wind  that  had  scattered  the  flowers,  and  left  but  a 
remnant  in  her  hand,  had  also  unloosed  her  nut-brown 
hair,  and  blown  it  in  tangled  masses  about  her  face  and 
neck.  She  stood  aside,  in  a  shamed  way,  to  let  the 
strangers  pass  ;  but  the  Whaup  stopped. 

"  What  is  the  matter  wi'  ye,  my  lass  ? "  said  he. 

"  I  had  my  shoon  and  stockings  in  my  bundle,"  she 
said,  while  the  tears  welled  up  in  her  blue  eyes,  "  and 
I  hae  dropped  them  out :  and  I  canna  gang  back  the 
road  to  look  for  them,  for  I  maun  be  in  Saltcoats  afore 
kye-time." 

"  What  does  she  say  ?  "  asked  Coquette. 

"  She  has  only  lost  her  shoes  and  stockings,  that's  all," 
said  the  Whaup.  "  But  it  is  bad  enough  for  her,  I  dare 
say.". 

In  an  instant  Coquette  had  out  her  purse,  a  dainty 
little  Parisian  thing,  in  mother-of-pearl,  with  filagree  work 
round,  and  taken  therefrom  two  Napoleons. 

"Here/'  she  said,  going  forward  to  the  girl,  "you 
must  not  cry  any  more  about  that.  Take  my  little 
present,  and  you  will  buy  more  shoes  and  more  stockings 
for  yourself." 

The  girl  eyed  the  money  with  some  dismay,  and  prob- 
ably wondered  if  this  were  not  a  temptress  who  had 
suddenly  appeared  to  offer  her  gold,  and  who  spoke  with 
a  strange  sound  in  her  voice. 

"  Dinna  be  a  sumph  !  "  said  the  Whaup,  who  could 
talk  sufficiently  broad  Scotch  when  occasion  demanded. 


5  6  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HE  TIL 

"  Take  the   money  the  leddy  offers  ye,  and  thank  her 
for't." 

The  girl  accepted  the  foreign-looking  coins,  and 
seemed  much  distressed  that,  like  the  peasantry  of  Scot- 
land in  general,  she  did  not  know  how  to  express  the 
gratitude  she  felt.  Her  thanks  were  in  her  eyes,  and 
these  spoke  very  eloquently.  But,  j  ust  as  her  benefactors 
were  moving  on,  a  man  came  along  the  road  with  some- 
thing dangling  from  his  hands.  Great  was  the  joy  of 
the  girl  on  perceiving  that  he  had  found  her  lost  prop- 
erty ;  and  when  he  had  come  up,  and  delivered  the 
things  to  her,  she  advanced  with  the  money  to  Coquette. 

"  Thank  ye,  mem,"  said  she. 

"  Won't  you  keep  the  money,  and  buy  something  for 
your  little  brothers  and  sisters,  if  you  have  any?" 

This  offer  was  declined,  with  just  an  inkling  of  pride 
in  the  girl's  manner  ;  and  the  next  instant  she  was 
hurrying  to  Saltcoats  as  fast  as  her  bare  feet  could  carry 
her. 

Now  this  incident  had  delayed  the  two  runaways  much 
longer  than  they  suspected  ;  and  when  they  had  got 
down  to  Saltcoats  they  were  much  later  than  they 
dreamed.  Indeed,  they  never  looked  at  the  town  clock 
in  passing,  so  satisfied  were  they  that  they  had  plenty 
of  time. 

"  This  is  not  like  St.  Nazaire,"  said  Coquette,  decid- 
edly. 

"  You  have  not  seen  it  yet,"  returned  the  Whaup, 
just  as  confidently. 

A  few  minutes  afterwards  Coquette  and  he  stood  upon 
the  shore.  The  long  bay  of  Saltcoats,  sweeping  round 
from  the  far  promontory  of  Troon,  fronted  a  heaving, 
tumbling  mass  of  white-crested  waves,  that  came  rolling 
onward  from  under  a  great  leaden  breadth  of  sky  ;  and 
as  they  gazed  out  on  this  wintry-looking  sea  they  had  on 
their  right  hand  the  curve  of  the  bay,  ending  in  the  gray 
stone  wall  of  the  town,  which  projected  into  the  water, 
with  here  and  there  a  crumbling  old  house  peeping  over 
it.  The  church  spire  rose  above  the  tallest  of  the  houses 
on  the  side  of  the  land,  and  aided  the  perspective  of  the 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH.  ^ 

lines,  which  ran  out  to  a  point  at  the  end  of  the  wall — 
so  much  so  that  one  would  almost  imagine  the  site  of  the 
building  had  been  chosen  by  one  who  had  studied  the 
picturesque  opportunities  of  the  bay. 

"  It  is  St.  Nazaire  in  winter  !  "  cried  Coquette,  her 
voice  half  lost  in  the  roar  of  waves. 

"  Didn't  I  tell  you,"  shouted  the  Whaup,  triumph- 
antly, who  had  never  seen  St.  Nazaire,  but  only  knew 
that,  on  this  side,  Saltcoats  looked  singularly  like  a  little 
French  walled  town.  "  Now  will  you  come  and  see  the 
harbor  ? " 

But  she  would  not  leave.  She  stood  there,  with  her 
shawl  fluttering  in  the  fierce  wind,  and  with  her  slight 
form  scarcely  able  to  withstand  the  force  of  the  hurri- 
cane, looking  out  on  the  rushing  white  crests  of  the 
waves,  on  the  black  line  of  the  town  perched  above  the 
rocks  and  the  ruddy  sand,  and  on  the  lowering  western 
sky,  which  seemed  to  be  slowly  advancing  with  its  gloom. 
There  was  no  sign  of  life  near  them  ;  not  even  a  sailor 
on  the  watch,  nor  a  ship  running  before  the  wind ;  noth- 
ing but  the  long  and  level  shore,  and  the  great  wild  mass 
of  waves,  which  had  avoice  like  thunder  far  out  beyond 
the  mere  dashing  on  the  beach. 

"  Imagine  what  it  would  be,"  she  said,  "  to  have  one 
you  loved  out  on  that  fearful  sea,  and  to  come  down  here 
at  night  to  hear  the  savage  message  that  the  waves 
bring.  It  would  make  me  mad.  You  will  not  go  to 
sea  ?  "  she  added,  suddenly,  turning  to  him  with  an  ur- 
gent pleading  in  her  face  and  her  voice. 

"  No,  of  course  not,"  he  said,  looking  strangely  at 
her. 

Was  it  possible,  then,  that  this  vague  determination 
of  his  had  lingered  in  her  mind  as  a  sort  of  threat  ?  Did 
she  care  to  have  him  remain  near  her  ? 

"  Come,"  said  he,  "  we  must  hurry,  if  you  mean  to 
see  the  harbor  and  the  old  ruins  at  the  point.  Besides, 
I  want  you  to  rest  for  a  minute  or  two  at  an  inn  here, 
and  you  shall  see  whether  there  is  no  vin  ordinaire  in 
the  country  except  at  Earlshope." 


58  A  DAUGHTER  OF  PIETIf. 

"  Earlshope — Earlshope,"  she  said.  "  Why  do  you 
talk  always  of  Earlshope  ?  " 

The  Whaup  would  not  answer,  but  led  her  back 
through  the  town,  and  stopped  on  their  way  to  the  har- 
bor at  the  Saracen's  Head.  Here  Coquette  had  a  biscuit 
and  a  glass  of  claret,  and  was  further  delighted  to  per- 
ceive that  the  window  of  the  room  they  were  in  looked 
out  upon  a  very  French-looking  courtyard  of  stone,  sur- 
rounded by  a  high  wall  which  appeared  to  front  the  sea. 

"It  is  St.  Nazaire  in  winter,"  she  repeated:  "the 
gray  stones,  the  windy  sea,  the  chill  air.  Yet  how  dark 
it  becomes  ! " 

Indeed,  when  they  had  resumed  their  journey,  and 
gone  out  to  the  point  beyond  the  little  harbor,  on  which 
stand  what  looked  like  the  remains  of  an  ancient  for- 
tress, the  storm  had  waxed  m\ich  more  fierce.  They 
passed  through  the  ruins  on  to  the  rocks,  and  found 
themselves  alone  in  front  of  the  sea,  which  had  now  be- 
come of  a  lurid  green.  It  wa.%  in  fact,  much  lighter  in 
color  than  the  gloomy  sky  above ;  and  the  gray  green 
waves,  tumbling  in  white,  could  be  seen  for  an  immense 
distance  under  this  black  canopy  of  cloud.  The  wind 
whistled  around  them,  and  dashed  the  spray  of  the  sea 
into  their  blinded  eyes.  The  wildness  of  the  scene, 
the  roaring  of  wind  and  sea  around,  produced  a  strange 
excitement  in  the  girl  ;  and  while  she  clung  to  the 
Whaup's  arm  to  steady  herself  on  the  rocks,  she  laughed 
aloud  in  defiance  of  the  storm.  At  this  moment  a  glare 
of  steel-blue  light  flashed  through  the  driving  gloom  in 
front  of  them,  and  almost  shnultaneously  there  was  a 
rattle  of  thunder  overhead,  which  reverberated  among 
the  Arran  hills.  Then  came  the  rain,  and  they  coul'd 
hear  the  hissing  of  it  on  the  sea  before  it  reached  them. 

"  Shall  we  make  for  the  town,"  cried  the  Whaup, 
"  or  shelter  ourselves  in  the  ruins  ?  " 

He  had  scarcely  spoken  when  another  wild  glare  burst 
before  their  eyes,  and  made  them  stagger  back,  while 
the  rattle  of  the  thunder  seemed  all  around  their  ears. 

"  Are  you  hurt  ?  "  said  Coquette,  for  her  companion 
did  not  speak. 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH.  ^ 

"  I  think  not/'  said  the  Whaup,  "  but  my  arm  tingles 
up  to  the  elbow,  and  I  can  scarcely  move  it.  This  is 
close  work.  We  must  hide  in  the  ruins,  or  you  will  be 
wet  through." 

They  went  inside  the  old  building,  and  crept  down 
and  sat  mute  and  expectant  under  Coquette's  outstretched 
plaid.  All  around  them  was  the  roaring  of  the  waves, 
with  the  howling  of  the  gusts  of  wind  and  rain;  and 
ever  and  anon  the  rough  ston-e  walls  before  them  would 
be  lit  up  by  a  flash  of  blue  lightning,  which  stunned  their 
eyes  for  several  seconds. 

"This  is  a  punishment  for  our  running  away/' said 
Coquette. 

"Nonsense!"  said  the  Whaup.  "This  storm  will 
wreck  many  a  boat ;  and  it  would  be  rather  hard  if  a  lot 
of  sailors  should  be  drowned  merely  to  give  us  a  drouk- 
ing." 

"  What  is  that  ?  " 

"  A  wetting,  such  as  we  are  likely  to  get.  Indeed  I 
don't  think  there  is  much  use  in  stopping  here,  for  it  will 
soon  be  so  dark  that  we  shall  not  see  to  gang  along  the 
rocks  to  the  shore." 

This  consideration  made  them  rise  and  leave  at  once  ; 
and  sure  enough  it  had  grown  very  dark  within  the  past 
half-hour.  Night  was  rapidly  approaching  as  they  made 
their  way  through  Saltcoats  to  gain  the  road  to  Airlie. 
Nor  did  the  storm  abate  one  jot  of  its  fury ;  and  long 
before  they  had  begun  to  ascend  towards  the  moorland 
country  the  Whaup  was  as  wet  as  though  he  had  been 
lying  in  a  river.  Coquette's  thick  plaid  saved  her  some- 
what. 

"  What  shall  we  do  ? "  she  said.  "  They  will  be  very 
angry,  and  this  time  with  reason." 

"  I  shouldn't  care  whether  they  were  angry  or  not," 
said  the  Whaup,  "  if  only  you  were  at  home  and  in  dry 
clothes." 

"  But  you  are  wetter  than  I  am." 

"  But  I  don't  care,"  said  the  Whaup,  although  his 
teeth  were  chattering  in  his  head. 

So  they  struggled  on,  in  the  darkness  and  wind  and 


Co  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

driving  rain,  until  it  seemed  to  Coquette  that  the  way 
under  foot  was  strangely  spongy  and  wet.  She  said 
nothing,  however,  until  the  Whaup  exclaimed,  in  a 
serious  voice, — 

"  We  are  off  the  road,  and  on  the  moor  somewhere.' 

Such  was  the  fact.  They  had  got  up  to  the  high 
land  only  to  find  themselves  lost  in  a  morass,  with  no 
means  of  securing  the  slightest  guidance.  There  was 
nothing  for  it  but  to  blunder  on  helplessly  through  the 
dark,  trusting  to  find  some  indication  of  their  where- 
abouts. At  last  they  came  to  an  enclosure  and  a  foot- 
path ;  and  as  they  followed  this,  hoping  to  reach  the 
Airlie  road,  they  came  upon  a  small  house,  which  had  a 
light  in  its  windows. 

"  It  is  Earlshope  Lodge,"  said  the  Whaup.  "  And 
there  are  the  gates." 

"  Oh,  let  us  go  in  and  beg  for  some  shelter,"  said 
Coquette,  whose  courage  had  forsaken  her  the  moment 
she  found  they  had  lost  their  way. 

"You  may,"  said  a  voice  from  the  mass  of  wet  gar- 
ments beside  her,  "  you  may  go  in,  and  get  dry  clothes, 
if  you  like  ;  but  I  will  not." 


CHAPTER  IX. 

COQUETTE'S  PROMISE. 

"  GOOD-MORNING,  Miss  Cassilis,"  said  Lord  Earlshope. 
as  he  met  Coquette  coming  over  the  moorland  road, 
"  I  hear  you  had  an  adventure  last  night.  But  why  did 
not  you  go  into  the  lodge  and  get  dried  ?" 

"  Why  ?  "  said  Coquette,  "  why,  because  Cousin 
Tom  and  I  were  as  wet  as  we  could  be,  and  it  was  better 
to  go  on  straight  to  the  Manse  without  waiting.  Have 
you  seen  him  this  morning  ?  " 

"  Your  cousin  ?  No." 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH,  6t 

"  I  am  looking  for  him.  I  think  he  believes  he  is  in 
disgrace  at  the  Manse,  and  has  gone  off  for  some  wild 
mischief.  He  has  taken  all  his  brothers  with  him  ;  and 
I  did  hear  him  laughing  and  singing  as  he  always  does 
when  he,  how  do  you  call  it  ?  when  he  breaks  o-ut." 

"  Let  me  help  you  to  look  for  him,"  said  Lord  Earls- 
hope.  "  I  am  sure  he  ought  to  be  proud  of  your  solici- 
tude, if  anything  is  wanted  to  make  him  happier  than  he 
is.  How  thoroughly  that  handsome  lad  seems  to  enjoy 
the  mere  routine  of  living  !  " 

"  You  talk  as  if  you  were  an  old  man,"  said  Coquette, 
with  one  of  her  bright  laughs.  "  Do  not  you  enjoy  liv- 
ing?" 

"  Enjoy  it  ?  No.  If  the  days  pass  easily,  without 
much  bother,  I  am  contented ;  but  happiness  does  not 
visit  a  man  who  looks  upon  himself  as  a  failure  at  twenty- 
seven." 

"  I  do  not  understand  you,"  said  Coquette,  with  a 
puzzled  air. 

"  You  would  provoke  me  into  talking  about  myself, 
as  if  I  were  a  hypochondriac.  Yet  I  have  no  story, 
nothing  to  amuse  you  with." 

"  Oh,  I  do  wish  you  to  tell  me  all  about  yourself," 
said  Coquette,  with  a  gracious  interest.  "  Why  you  re- 
main by  yourself  in  this  place  ?  Why  you  have  no  com- 
panions, no  occupation  ?  You  are  mysterious." 

"  I  am  not  even  that,"  he  said,  with  a  smile.  "  I 
have  not  even  a  mystery.  Yet  I  will  tell  you  all  about 
myself,  if  you  care  to  hear,  as  we  go  along.  Stop  me 
when  I  tire  you." 

So  her  companion  began  and  told  her  all  about  him- 
self and  his  friends,  his  college  life,  his  relations,  his  ac- 
quaintances, his  circumstances  ;  a  rather  lengthy  narra- 
tive, which  need  not  be  repeated  here.  Coquette  learned 
a  great  deal  during  that  time,  however,  and  saw  for  the 
first  time  Lord  Earlshope  in  a  true  light.  He  was  no 
longer  to  her  a  careless  and  light-hearted  young ^  man, 
who  had  made  her  acquaintance  out  of  indolent  curiosity, 
and  seemed  inclined  to  flirt  with  her  for  mere  amuse- 
ment. He  was,  in  his  own  words,  a  failure  at  twenty- 


62  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

seven ;  a  man  whose  extremely  morbid  disposition  had 
set  to  work  years  ago  to  eat  into  his  life.  He  had  had 
his  aspirations  and  ambitions ;  and  had  at  length  con- 
vinced himself  that  he  had  not  been  granted  the  intellect 
to  accomplish  any  of  his  dreams.  Whiat  remained  to 
him  ? 

"  I  was  not  fit  to  do  anything,"  he  said,  "  with  those 
political,  social,  and  other  means  that  are  meant  to  se- 
em e  the  happiness  of  multitudes.  All  I  could  do  was 
to  try  to  secure  my  own  happiness,  and  help  the  philan- 
thropists by  a  single  unit." 

"  Have  you  done  that  ?  "  said  Coquette. 

"  No,"  he  rejoined,  with  a  careless  shrug.  "  I  think 
I  have  failed  in  that,  too.  All  my  life  I  have  been  cut- 
ting open  my  bellows  to  see  where  the  wind  came  from  ; 
and  if  you  were  to  go  over  Earlshope  you  would  discover 
the  remains  of  twenty  different  pursuits  that  I  have  at- 
tempted and  thrown  aside.  Do  you  know,  Miss  Cassilis, 
that  I  have  even  ceased  to  take  any  interest  in  the  prob- 
icm  of  myself  ;  in  the  spectacle  of  a  man  physically  as 
strong  as  most  men,  and  mentally  so  vacillating  that  he 
has  never  been  able  to  hold  an  opinion  or  get  up  a  preju- 
dice to  swear  by.  Even  the  dullest  men  have  convic- 
tions about  politics  ;  but  I  am  a  Tory  in  sympathy  and 
a  Radical  in  theory,  so  that  I  am  at  war  with  myself  on 
pretty  nearly  every  point.  Sometimes  I  have  fancied 
that  there  are  a  good  many  men  in  this  country  more  or 
less  in  my  condition ;  and  then  it  has  occurred  tome 
that  an  invasion  of  England  would  be  a  good  thing." 

"  Ah,  you  would  have  something  to  believe  in  then ; 
something  to  fight  for  !  "  said  Coquette. 

"  Perhaps.  Yet  I  don't  know.  If  the  invaders  should 
happen  to  have  better  educational  institutions  than  Eng- 
land, as  is  very  likely,  oughtn't  I  to  fight  on  their  side, 
and  wish  them  to  be  successful,  and  give  us  a  lesson  ? 
England,  you  know,  owes  everything  to  successive  inva- 
sions ;  for  the  proper  test  of  the  invader's  political  insti- 
tutions was  whether  they  could  hold  their  own  in  the 
country  after  he  had  planted  his  foot  there.  But  I  have 
really  to  beg  your  pardon.  I  must  not  teach  you  the 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH.  ^ 

trick  of  following  everything  to  the  vanishing  point 
You  have  the  greatest  of  earthly  blessings  ;  you  enjoy 
life  without  asking  yourself  why." 

"  But  I  do  not  understand,"  said  Coquette,  "  how  I 
can  enjoy  more  than  you.  Is  it  not  pleasant  to  come 
out  in  the  sunshine  like  this,  after  the  night's  rain,  and 
see  the  clear  sky,  and  smell  the  sweet  air  ?  You  enjoy 
that " 

"  I  cannot  help  wondering  what  appetite  it  will  give 
me." 

Coquette  made  an  impatient  gesture  with  her  hands. 

"  At  least  you  do  enjoy  speaking  with  me  here  on 
this  pleasant  morning  ?  " 

"  The  more  we  talk,"  he  said,  "the  more  I  am  puz- 
zled by  ih(.  mystery  of  the  difference  between  you  and 
me.  Why,  the  passing  of  a  bright-colored  butterfly  is 
an  intense  pleasure  to  you.  I  have  seen  you  look  up  to 
a  gleam  of  blue  sky,  and  clasp  your  hands,  and  laugh 
with  delight.  Every  scent  of  a  flower,  every  pleasant 
sound,  every  breath  of  sunshine  and  air,  is  a  new  joy  to 
you  ;  and  you  are  quite  satisfied  with  merely  being  alive. 
Of  course,  it  is  an  advantage  to  be  alive;  but  there  are 
few  who  make  so  much  of  it  as  you  do." 

"You  think  too  much  about  it,"  said  Coquette. 
"  When  you  marry  some  day,  you  will  have  more  prac^ 
tical  things  to  think  of,  and  you  will  be  happier." 

At  the  mention  of  the  word  marriage  a  quick  look 
of  annoyance  seemed  to  pass  across  his  face,  but  she  did 
not  notice  it,  and  he  replied  lightly, — 

"  Marriages  are  made  in  heaven,  Miss  Cassilis,  and  I 
am  afraid  they  won't  do  much  for  me  there." 

"Ah  !  do  not  you  believe  in  heaven  ?  "  she  said,  and 
the  brown  eyes  were  turned  anxiously  to  his  face. 

"  Do  not  let  us  talk  about  that,"  said  he,  indifferently. 
"I  do  not  wish  to  alienate  from  me  the  only  companion 
I  have  ever  found  in  this  place.  Yet  I  do  not  disbelieve 
in  what  you  believe,  I  know.  What  were  you  saying 
about  marriage  ? "  he  added,  with  an  apparent  effort 
"Do  you  believe  that  marriages  arc  made  in  heaven  ? " 


C4  ^  DAUGHTER  OF  HE  TIL 

"  I  do  not  know,"  replied  Coquette ;  "  the  people 
say  that  sometimes.'' 

"  I  was  only  thinking,"  remarked  Lord  Earlshope, 
with  an  apparently  careless  laugh,  "  that  if  the  angels 
employ  their  leisure  in  making  mairiages,  they  some- 
times turn  out  a  very  inferior  article.  Don't  you  think 
so?" 

Coquette  was  not  a  very  observant  young  person, 
she  was  much  too  occupied  with  her  own  round  of  inno- 
cent little  enjoyments  ;  but  it  did  strike  her  that  her 
companion  spoke  with  a  touch  of  bitterness  in  his  tone. 
However,  they  did  not  pursue  the  subject  further,  for, 
much  to  their  surprise,  they  suddenly  stumbled  upon 
the  Whaup  and  his  brothers. 

The  boys  were  at  a  small  bridge  crossing  the  stream 
that  ran  down  from  Airlie  moor  ;  and  they  were  so 
much  occupied  with  their  own  pursuits  that  they  took 
no  notice  of  the  approach  of  Coquette  and  her  com- 
panion. Lord  Earlshope,  indeed,  at  once  motioned  to 
Coquette  to  preserve  silence  ;  and,  aided  by  a  line  of 
small  alder  and  hazel  bushes  which  grew  on  the  banks 
of  the  rivulet,  they  drew  quite  near  to  the  Minister's 
sons  without  being  perceived. 

Coquette  was  right :  the  Whaup  had  "  broken  out," 
Feeling  assured  that  he  would  be  held  responsible  for 
all  the  crimes  of  yesterday ;  the  affair  of  the  crucifix  ; 
the  clandestine  excursion  to  Saltcoats,  and  the  mishaps, 
that  accrued  therefrom ;  the  Whaup  had  reflected  thai 
it  was  as  well  to  be  hanged  for  a  sheep  as  a  lamb.  When 
Coquette  and  her  companion  came  in  sight  of  him  he 
was  fulfilling  the  measure  of  his  iniquities. 

What  had  moved  him  to  vent  his  malignity  on  his 
younger  brother  Wattie,  unless  it  was  that  Wattie  was 
the  "  best  boy  "  of  the  Manse,  and,  further,  that  he  had 
shown  an  enmity  to  Coquette,  must  remain  a. mystery  ; 
but  at  this  moment  Wattie  was  depending  from  the 
small  bridge,  his  head  a  short  distance  from  the  water, 
his  feet  held  close  to  the  parapet  by  the  muscular  arms 
of  the  Whaup,  while  one  of  the  other  boys  had  beea 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH.  65 

made  an  accomplice  to  the  extent  of  holding  on  to  Wat- 
tie's  trousers. 

"  Noo,  Wattie,"  said  the  Whaup,  "  ye  maun  say  a 
sweer  afore  ye  get  up.  I'm  no  jokin',  and  unless  ye  be 
quick,  ye'll  be  in  the  water." 

But  would  Wattie,  the  paragon  of  scholars,  the  ex- 
emplar to  his  brothers,  imperil  his  soul  by  uttering  a 
"  bad  word  ? "  Surely  not.  Wattie  was  resolute.  He 
knew  what  punishment  was  held  in  reserve  for  swearers, 
and  preferred  the  colder  element. 

"  Wattie,"  said  the  Whaup,  "  say  a  sweer,  or  ye'll 
gang  into  the  burn,  as  sure  as  daith." 

No  ;  Wattie  would  rather  be  a  martyr.  Whereupon, 
the  bridge  being  a  very  low  one,  the  Whaup  and  his 
brothers  lowered  Wattie  a  few  inches,  so  that  the  ripples 
touched  his  head.  Wattie  set  up  a  fearful  howl,  and  his 
brothers  raised  him  to  his  former  position. 

"  Now  will  ye  say  it  ?  " 

"  Deevil!  "  cried  Wattie.     "  Let  me  up  ;  I  hae  said 


a  sweer." 


The  other  brothers  raised  a  demoniac  shout  of 
triumph  over  this  apostasy ;  and  the  Whaup's  roars  of 
laughter  had  nearly  the  effect  of  precipitating  Wattie 
into  the  stream  in  downright  earnest.  But  this  back- 
sliding on  the  part  of  their  pious  brother  did  not  seem 
to  the  tempters  sufficiently  serious. 

"  Ye  maun  say  a  worse  sweer,  Wattie.  "  Deevil'  is 
no  bad  enough." 

"  I'll  droon  first !  "  said  Wattie,  whimpering  in  his 
distress,  "and  then  ye'll  get  your  paiks,*  I'm  thinking." 

Down  went  Wattle's  head  into  the  burn  again  ;  and 
this  time  he  was  raised  with  his  mouth  sputtering  out 
the  contents  it  had  received. 

"  I'll  say  what  ye  like,  I'll  say  what  ye  like  !  D— n, 
is  that  bad  enough  ? " 

With  another  unholy  shout  of  derision,  Wattie  was 
raised  and  set  on  the  bridge. 

"  Noo,"  said  the  Whaup,  standing  over  him,  "  let  me 
tell  you  this,  my  man.  The  next  time  ye  gang  to  my 

*  Anglice — a  thrashing. 


56  A  DAUGHTER  OF  IIETIf. 

faithcr,  and  tell  a  story  about  any  one  o'  us,  or  the  next 
time  ye  say  a  word  against  the  French  lassie,  as  ye  ca' 
her,  do  ye  ken  what  I'll  do  ?  I'll  take  ye  back  to  my 
faither  by  the  lug,  and  I'll  tell  him  ye  were  swearin'  like 
a  trooper  down  by  the  burn  ;  and  every  one  o'  us  will 
testify  against  ye.  Ma  certes,  my  man,  I'm  thinking  it 
will  be  your  turn  to  consider  pai'ks.  My  faither  has  a 
bonnie  switch,  Wattie,  a  braw  switch,  Wattie  ;  and  what 
think  ye  he'll  do  to  his  well-behaved  son  that  gangs  about 
the  countryside  swearin'  just  like  a  Kilmarnock  ? " 

Coquette  held  out  her  hand  to  her  companion. 

"  Good-bye,"  she  said,  "  and  I  do  thank  you  for 
bringing  me  here." 

Lord  Earlshope  perceived  that  he  was  dismissed, 
but  did  not  know  why.  He  was  not  aware  that  Co- 
quette was  trembling  lest  she  should  be  seen  in  his  for- 
bidden company. 

"  Shall  I  see  you  to-morrow  ? "  he  said,  as  he  took 
her  hand. 

"  When  it  is  fine  I  do  always  go  out  for  a  walk  after 
breakfast/'  she  said,  lightly ;  and  so  they  parted. 


CHAPTER   X. 

THE     SCHOOLMASTER. 

COQUETTE  would  have  given  much  to  have  recalled 
these  words.  She  felt  that  they  implied  a  promise;  and 
that  if  she  kept  her  promise  she  would  find  herself  ham- 
pered by  the  weight  of  a  secret.  Now  the  girl  abhorred 
every  sort  of  restraint  that  interfered  with  the  natural 
cheerfulness  and  lightness  of  her  heart ;  and  no 
sooner  had  Lord  Earlshope  disappeared  than  she  began 
to  dread  this  thing  that  she  had  done.  Why  had  he 
asked  her  to  meet  him  ?  Why  did  not  he  come  to  the 
Manse  ?  And  while  she  stood  irresolute,  wondering 


A  DA  UGHTER  OF  HE  TIf  6 ; 

how  she  could  free  herself  from  the  chains  that  seemed 
likely  to  bind  her,  the  Whaup  and  his  brothers  made  a 
dash  at  the  place  of  her  concealment. 

"  Hillo  !  "  cried  her  cousin  Tom,  "  how  did  you  come 
here  ?  " 

"  I  came  in  search  of  you,"  she  said,  glancing  ner- 
vously around  to  see  that  Lord  Earlshope  was  out  of 
sight. 

"  And  you  were  spying  on  us,  were  you  ? "  said  the 
Whaup,  with  a  laugh. 

"  Why  do  you  ill-treat  your  brother  so  ?  "  she  said. 

"  It  is  no  ill-treatment,"  he  said,  in  his  best  English. 
"  It  is  the  execution  o'  a  sentence  passed  on  him  last 
night  by  the  whole  of  us.  We  are  the  Vehmgericht  of 
this  neighborhood,  Miss  Coquette,  and  when  any  one 
injures  you,  appeal  to  us.  You  have  only  to  name  him, 
and  we  hamstring  his  cattle,  set  fire  to  his  barn,  and 
seize  himself  and  pull  out  his  teeth.  Eh,  Boys  ? " 

There  was  a  general  chorous  of  assent. 

"  But  you  must  not  call  me  by  that  name  any  more," 
said  the  young  lady,  with  a  blush. 

"  Not  Coquette  any  more  ?  I  shall  withdraw  the 
name  when  I  see  you  don't  deserve  it,"  said  the  Whaup, 
with  cool  insolence.  It  was  clear  he  had  "  broken  out." 

The  Whaup  now  dismissed  his  brothers,  and  pro- 
ceeded to  escort  Coquette  back  across  the  moor.  He 
explained,  however,  that  he  did  not  think  it  advisable 
for  him  to  go  into  the  Manse  just  then. 

" Why? "said  Coquette.  "I  told  Mr.  Cassilis  all 
about  it ;  he  does  not  think  you  to  blame." 

"  That  means,"  said  her  companion,  "  that  you  took 
the  blame  on  yourself.  But  you  only  know  the  half." 

With  which  the  Whaup  broke  into  another  fit  of 
laughter.  When  he  had  recovered,  he  told  her  the  story. 
That  morning,  on  issuing  out,  he  heard  Andrew  and 
Leezibeth  talking  about  his  cousin  in  a  not  very  com- 
plimentary fashion,  and  at  once  determined  on  revenge. 
There  was  an  outhouse,  in  which  were  kept  garden 
utensils,  coal,  and  various  other  things,  and  this  out- 
house had  a  door  which  was  occasionally  obstinate. 


68  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

Now  the  Whaup  seeing  Andrew  at  the  far  end  of  the 
garden,  informed  him  that  Mr.  Cassilis  wanted  a  spade 
brought  to  him  ;  and  Andrew  muttered  "  by  and  by." 
Meanwhile  the  Whaup  made  his  way  to  the  outhouse, 
opened  the  door,  and  shut  himself  in.  Two  or  three 
minutes  afterwards  Andrew  came  and  lifted  the  latch. 
The  door  would  not  open.  He  shoved  and  shook  ;  it 
would  not  open,  the  reason  being  merely  that  the 
Whaup,  who  could  see  through  a  chink,  had  his  foot 


against  it. 


At  last  Andrew,  obviously  very  angry,  retired  a  few 
yards,  made  a  race,  and  threw  the  whole  of  his  weight 
upon  the  door.  There  was  a  crash,  a  stumble,  a  cry,  and 
then  a  great  pealing  shriek  of  merriment  as  the  Whaup 
jumped  out  of  the  place,  leaving  Andrew  lying  among  a 
heap  of  tumbled  pitchforks  and  handbarrows.  The 
door  had  yielded  so  easily  that  Andrew  had  precipitated 
himself  upon  the  floor  of  the  outhouse,  and  now  lay 
groaning. 

"  I  don't  know  what  he  said,"  remarked  the  Whaup, 
as  he  recounted  the  adventure  with  great  glee,  "  but  it 
didna  sound  to  me  like  the  Psalms  of  David." 

"  Tom,"  said  his  cousin,  "you  area  wicked  boy.  Why 
don't  you  give  up  these  school  jokes  ?  You  are  tall  and 
strong  enough  to  be  a  man  :  why,  you  behave  as  if  you 
were  at  school." 

The  Whaup  was  not  in  a  repentant  mood. 

"  I'm  only  half  and  between,"  said  he.  "  I  am  a  man 
some  days — a  boy  others.  You  can't  expect  me  to  change 
all  at  once,  Miss  Coquette." 

"  You  must  not  call  me  that  name,"  said  she.  "  It  is 
not  fair;  I  am  not  Coquette." 

"  Oh,  indeed,"  said  he.  "  When  did  you  see  Lord 
Earlshope  ? " 

"  This  morning,"  said  she,  with  a  pout. 

The  Whaup  was  instantly  sobered. 

"  Was  Lord  Earlshope  at  the  Manse  ? "  he  asked, 
coldly. 

Now  was  the  time  for  Coquette  to  make  a  full  con- 
fession. Indeed,  she  had  admitted  having  seen  Lord 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 


69 


Earlsbope  that  morning  for  the  very  purpose  of  telling 
the  Whaup  all  about  her  half-promise,  and  so  relieving 
her  mind  from  its  burden  of  secrecy.  But  as  she  looked 
at  him  she  saw  that  his  face  had  grown  very  implacable. 
She  had  not  the  courage  to  tell  him.  She  said,  in  a 
timid  way, — 

"  He  met  me  as  I  was  coming  to  look  for  you,  and 
walked  a  bit  of  the  way  with  me." 

"  How  far  ?  " 

Coquette  drew  herself  up  a  bit. 

"  You  have  not  the  right  to  ask  me  such  questions." 

"  I  understand  now,"  said  the  Whaup,  calmly,  "  how 
you  looked  caught  when  I  found  }  ou  at  the  bushes,  and 
why  you  turned  to  look  over  the  moor.  I  daresay  he  had 
come  there  with  you,  and  sneaked  away " 

"  Sneaked  !  sneaked  !  "  said  Coquette,  warmly  (al 
though  she  only  guessed  at  the  meaning  of  the  word).  "I 
do  not  know  what  it  is  ;  but  Lord  Earlshope  is  not  afraid 
to  be  seen.  Why  should  he  be  ?  What  is  wrong  in  his 
going  with  me  there  ?  And  you  think  I  do  not  know 
what  is  right  for  me  to  do." 

"  Ah  well,"  said  the  Whaup,  with  an  air  of  resigna- 
tion. "  I  give  you  up.  I  see  you  are  just  like  other 
women." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  said  Coquette,  angrily,  though 
she  kept  her  eyes  down. 

"  Nothing  of  any  importance,"  said  the  Whaup,  with 
a  forced  carelessness.  "  You  profess  you  were  doing 
what  was  right  and  fitting  ;  but  you  have  not  explained 
why  you  should  have  sent  Earlshope  away  ;  after  all,  he 
is  a  man,  and  would  not  have  sneaked  away  but  at  your 
bidding  ;  or  why  you  carefully  hid  from  the  whole  of  us 
that  you  had  just  left  him.  What  was  the  reason  of  all 
that  concealment  and  hypocrisy  ? "  he  added,  with  a 
touch  of  indignation.  "  I  know  you  were  doing  no 
wrong,  I  have  no  fear  in  that  way  for  one  that  bears  the 
name  of  Cassilis.  But  why  make  the  pretence  of  having 
done  wrong?  Why  try  to  hide  it?  Isn't  that  very 
woman-like,  isn't  that  very  deceitful  ?  And  I  thought  you 
were  something  different  from  other  women." 


;o  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETIL 

She  was  nearly  confessing  the  truth  to  him,  that  she 
had  resorted  to  this  unfortunate  bit  of  concealment 
merely  because  she  was  afraid  of  him.  But  she  knew 
that  if  she  made  this  admission  she  would  probably 
break  down  ;  and,  as  she  would  not  show  any  such 
symptom  of  weakness,  she  merely  replied  to  him,  with 
an  air  of  proud  indifference, — 

"  I  cannot  help  it,  if  I  am  a  woman." 

Thereafter,  dead  silence.  The  two  walked  across 
the  moor,  some  little  distance  apart,  without  uttering  a 
word.  When  they  reached  the  Manse,  Coquette  went 
to  her  own  room  and  shut  herself  up,  feeling  very  stern, 
determined,  and  wretched. 

The  Whaup,  on  the  other  hand,  rendered  desperate, 
resolved  to  deliver  himself  up  into  the  hands  of  justice. 
He  walked  into  his  father's  study,  in  order  to  impeach 
himse'f  and  demand  punishment  (the  Whaup  felt  that 
banishment  from  Airlie  would  almost  have  been  wel- 
come then),  but  Mr.  Cassilis  was  outside  in  the  garden. 
When  the  Whaup  at  length  perceived  his  father,  and  ap- 
proached him,  he  found  that  the  Schoolmaster  was  seek- 
ing an  audience. 

The  Schoolmaster  was  a  short,  stout,  red-haired  man, 
with  horn-rimmed  spectacles.  He  had  a  bushy  red  beard, 
and  held  his  head  well  drawn  back  :  so  that,  but  for  his 
deefctive  stature,  he  would  have  looked  a  man  of  impor- 
tance. However,  Nature,  not  generous  as  regards  inches, 
had  been  kinder  to  him  in  his  voice,  which  was  deep  and 
sonorous ;  and  it  was  the  especial  pride  of  Mr.  ^Eneas 
Gillespie,  Schoolmaster,  Parish  Clerk,  and  Grand  Al- 
moner of  Airlie,  that  he  spoke  a  species  of  idiomatic 
English  superior  to  the  talk  of  the  common  people  his 
neighbors.  It  was  only  on  rare  occasions  that  he  forgot 
himself,  and  relapsed  into  the  familiar  and  expressive 
phraseology  of  the  district. 

"  It  is  a  fine,  I  might  even  say  a  beautiful,  morning, 
he  observed  to  Mr.  Cassilis,  as  he  came  up. 

"  A  beautiful  morning,  indeed,"  said  the  Minister. 
At  this  moment  the  Whaup  made  his  appearance, 
and  was  at  once  saluted  by  the  Schoolmaster, 


A  DA  UGHTER  OF  HE  TIL  7  l 

"  Come  along,  young  man/'  he  said,  in  his  stately 
tones.  "  We  may  ask  your  aid,  or,  as  I  may  say,  your 
assistance,  in  this  matter.  Mr.  Cassilis,  may  I  inquire 
of  you  what  is  your  opinion  of  the  present  Lord  Earls- 
hope  ;  by  which  I  mean,  do  you  think  him  a  fit  compan- 
ion for  one  o'  your  household  ? " 

The  Schoolmaster  planted  himself  before  the  Minister, 
and  fixed  the  glare  of  his  horn-rimmed  spectacles  on  him. 

"  The  question  is  a  wide  one,  Mr.  Gillespie  "  said  the 
Minister,  with  a  smile.  "  I  do  not  think  we  ought  to  set 
ourselves  up  in  judgment  upon  our  neighbors  who  may 
have  been  brought  up  under  different  lights  from  ours, 
and  may  surprise  us  at  times,  I  admit,  by  their  conduct. 
Nor  would  it  be  fitting  for  them  who  try  to  walk  accord- 
ing to  the  Word  to  cut  themselves  off  from  all  commun- 
ication with  people  who  are  less  particular,  for  these 
might  benefit  by  example  and  the  kindly  teaching  of  ac- 
quaintanceship." 

Mr.  Gillespie  shook  his  head. 

"  I  would  not  interfere  with  your  section  of  the  pub- 
lic duties  of  this  parish,"  observed  the  Schoolmaster. 
"  You  are  the  arbiter  of  morals  and  conduct,  while  I  do 
my  humble  best,  my  endeavor,  as  I  may  say,  with  the 
education  of  our  joint  charge.  But  if  ye  will  let  me  re- 
mark, sir,  that  we  may  be  too  easy  with  our  judgment, 
and  encourage  ungodliness  by  association  'therewith. 
For  I  would  ask  ye,  Mr.  Cassilis,  if  we  are  to  draw  no 
line  between  the  good  and  the  bad,  what  is  the  good, 
as  I  may  say,  of  being  good  ? " 

The  Whaup  grew  very  red  in  the  face,  and  "  snirted  " 
with  laughter. 

"  There  are,  Mr.  Cassilis,"  continued  the  Schoolmas- 
ter, without  pausing  for  an  answer,  "there  are  those  who 
err  knowingly'  and  should  not  be  encouraged  ;  there  are 
those  who  err  in  ignorance,  and  should  be  informed.  Of 
these  last,  by  way  of  example,  is  Mrs.  Drumsynie,  the 
wife  of  a  carter  in  Dairy,  who  was  taken  home  on  Tues- 
day last  with  a  broken  leg.  Now  this  woman  had  so  far 
misconstrued  the  workings  of  Providence,  as  I  may  say, 
that  when  her  husband  was  brought  in  to  her  on  a  shut 


7  2  A  DA  UGHTER  OF  HE  777. 

ter,  she  exclaimed,  '  I  thank  the  Lord  we  will  get  some- 
thing out  o'  the  Society  at  last ' — meaning  the  Benefit 
Society,  of  which  I  am  the  secretary.  This  woman,  as 
I  judge,  was  not  to  be  taken  as  an  irreverent  or  wicked 
woman,  but  as  one  suffering  from,  or  laboring  under,  as 
I  may  say,  a  misapprehension." 

"  I  perceive,  Mr.  Gillespie,"  said  Mr.  Cassilis,  gravely ; 
"  but  ye  were  observing ? " 

"  I  am  coming  to  the  point,  sir.  And  I  think  I  can- 
not do  better  than  premise  with  a  simple  statement  of 
fact.  At  this  moment,  or  instant,  as  I  may  say,  your 
niece  is  out  walking  alone  with  Lord  Earlshope." 

The  Whaup's  face  flushed  with  something  else  than 
laughter  this  time,  when  he  saw  the  object  of  the  School- 
master's visit. 

"  Ye  may  premise  with  what  ye  like,"  said  the  lad, 
indignantly,  "but  that's  a  daggont  lee!"  * 

"  Thomas  !  "  cried  the  Minister,  "  ye  shall  answer  for 
this  afterward." 

But  the  Whaup  was  determined  to  have  it  out  with 
his  enemy. 

"  At  this  moment,  or  instant,  as  I  may  say,"  he  re- 
marked (and  the  Schoolmaster  dared  scarcely  believe  he 
was  listening  to  such  insolence  from  a  boy  whom  he  had 
many  a  time  thrashed),  "  Mr.  Cassilis's  niece  is  in  this 
house,  and  not  wi'  Lord  Earlshope  at  all.  And  suppose 
she  had  been,  what  then  ?  Is  it  a  sin  for  a  girl  even  to 
speak  to  him  if  she  meets  him  ?  Is  it  worse  than  for  an 
auld  man  to  come  spying  and  telling  tales  ?  And  if  an 
honest  woman  must  not  walk  with  Earlshope,  would  an 
honest  man  sit  down  at  his  table  ?  And  who  was  it,  Mr. 
Gillespie,  proposed  Lord  Earlshope's  health  at  the  last 
tenantry  dinner  ? " 

This  was  a  deadly  thrust,  and,  having  delivered  it, 
the  Whaup  walked  off.  He  was  angry  that  he  had  been 
goaded  into  defending  Lord  Earlshope  ;  but  his  zeal  in 
the  cause  of  Coquette  had  carried  him  beyond  such  con- 

*  Anglke — "  a  confounded  lie  1 "    Daggont  is  apparently  a  corruption  of 
•'  Dog  on  it!" 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  IIETH.  73 

siclerations.     He  looked  up  at  her  window  rather  sadly 
as  he  passed. 

"  I  suppose  that  I  shall  be  sent  to  Glasgow  for  this," 
he  said  to  himself ;  "  and  she  does  not  know  it  was  done 
for  her  sake." 

The  Schoolmaster  and  the  Minister  were  left  looking 
at  each  other. 

41 1  am  apprehensive  of  that  lad's  future,"  remarked 
the  Schoolmaster,  "  if  he  gives  way  to  such  unruly  gusts 
of  passion,  and  betrays  the  symptoms,  the  evidences,  I 
might  even  say,  of  a  lawless  and  undisciplined  mind." 

"We  will  leave  aside  that  for  the  present,  Mr.  Gilles- 
pie,"  said  the  Minister,  rather  impatiently.  "  I  will  ex- 
amine his  conduct  later  on.  In  the  mean  time  you  have 
something  to  say  about  my  niece." 

"  She  may  be  in  the  house,"  began  the  School- 
master. 

"  She  is  in  the  house,"  said  the  Minister,  decisively. 
"  None  of  my  boys  has  ever  been  known  to  tell  a  lie." 

"  At  all  events,  Mr.  Cassilis,  with  my  own  eyes  did  I 
see  her  walking  with  that  young  man.  That  is  all  I 
have  to  say.  I  leave  it  to  you  to  judge  whether  such 
conduct  is  becoming  to  one  who  may  be  regarded,  or 
considered,  as  your  daughter  ;  or,  indeed,  whether  it  is 
safe  for  herself.  We  have  a  duty,  an  obligation,  I  might 
even  call  it,  to  consider  how  our  actions  look  in  the  eyes 
of  our  neighbor,  so  as  not  to  offend,  but  to  walk  decently 
and  uprightly " 

"  Mr.  Gillespie,"  said  the  Minister,  interrupting  him 
somewhat  rudely,  "  you  may  depend  on  it  that  my  niece 
has  no  clandestine  relations  with  Lord  Earlshope.  It  is 
not  many  days  since  they  saw  each  other  for  the  first 
time,  I  have  no  doubt  that  when  you  saw  them  together 
it  was  but  a  chance  meeting.  You  would  not  have  them 
fly  from  each  other  ?  " 

The  Schoolmaster  shook  his  head.  He  was  begin- 
ning a  serious  discourse  on  the  duties  of  "  professors," 
when  the  Minister  was  forced  to  remind  his  visitor  that 
this  was  the  morning  on  which  he  began  his  studies  for 


74 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HE  TIL 


the  succeeding  Sabbath,  and  that  he  would  be  obliged 
to  postpone  further  mention  of  the  matter  at  present. 

"  We  may  return  to  it  again  at  a  more  convenient 
season,"  said  the  Schoolmaster,  as  he  took  his  leave, 
"seeing  the  importance  of  one  in  your  position,  Mr. 
Cassilis,  being  above  reproach  in  all  your  ways  and  ac- 
tions in  this  parish." 

All  that  day  and  all  that  evening  Coquette  was  very 
silent,  proud,  and  miserable.  Once  only  she  saw  the 
Whaup,  but  he  went  away  from  her  in  another  direction. 
It  was  understood  in  the  Manse  that  something  serious 
in  regard  to  the  Whaup  was  in  the  wind.  For  more 
than  an  hour  in  the  afternoon  he  was  in  his  father's 
study ;  and  when  he  came  out  he  spent  the  rest  of  the 
day  in  looking  over  his  live  pets,  he  supported  a  consid- 
erable stock  of  animals,  and  visiting  his  favorite  haunts 
in  the  neighborhood,  just  as  if  he  were  going  away. 

Next  morning  Coquette  met  him  at  breakfast  ;  he 
did  not  speak  to  her.  If  he  had  even  said  good-morning 
she  fancied  she  would  have  burst  into  tears  and  begged 
his  forgiveness,  and  told  him  all  that  oppressed  he-. 
But  again,  as  she  saw  him  silent  and  reserved,  grave, 
indeed,  far  beyond  his  wont,  she  put  it  down  to  pride  ; 
and  the  dainty  little  woman  closed  her  lips  with  an  in- 
flexible air,  and  felt  supremely  wretched. 

Some  little  time  after  they  had  dispersed  from  the 
breakfast  table  the  Whaup  saw  Coquette  cross  the  court- 
yard, with  her  small  hat  and  shawl  on.  When  she  per- 
ceived him,  she  walked  rather  timidly  to  him,  and  said, — 

"  I  am  going  for  a  walk ;  I  shall  be  glad  if  you  will 
come  with  me." 

"  Where  are  you  going  ? "  he  asked,  coldly. 

•"  In  the  direction  I  went  yesterday.  I  promised 
to  go  ;  I  do  think  it  likely  that  I  shall  meet  Lord  Earls- 
hope,  that  is  why  I  want  you  to  come  with  me." 

"  You  promised  to  meet  him,  and  now  ask  me  to  join  ; 
no,  thank  you.  I  should  be  the  third  wheel  of  the  cart." 

He  turned  and  walked  away.  She  looked  after  him 
A  few  minutes  before  she  had  resolved  she  would  not 
go  for  this  walk ;  she  would  rather  break  that  scarcely 


A  DA  UGHTER  OF  HE  TIL 


given  promise.  But  when  she  saw  him  go  away  like 
that,  her  lips  were  again  pressed  proudly  and  determin- 
edly together,  and  she  raised  the  latch  of  the  green  gate 
and  passed  out  into  the  moorland  road. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

A    MEETING   ON  THE    MOOR. 

"  I  AM  very  miserable,  "  said  Coquette,  struggling 
bravely  to  retain  her  tears. 

"  You  miserable  ? "  cried  Lord  Earlshope,  whom 
she  had  met  before  she  had  gone  five  hundred  yards 
from  the  Manse.  "  It  is  impossible  !  I  do  not  think 
you  have  the  capacity  to  be  miserable.  But  what  is  the 
matter  ?  Tell  me  all  about  it." 

It  was  a  dangerous  moment  for  the  exhibition  of 
this  kindness.  She  felt  herself  an  exile  from  the  Manse, 
and  receiving  comfort  and  sympathy  from  a  stranger. 

She  told  him  her  story,  rapidly,  and  in  French.  To 
have  the  burden  of  a  foreign  tongue  removed  was  in 
itself  a  consolation  to  her,  and  she  found  inexpressible 
relief  in  being  able  to  talk  fully  and  freely  about  all  her 
surroundings  at  the  Manse ;  about  her  relations  with  a 
number  of  people  so  unlike  her  in  temperament  and 
bringing  up ;  about  these  present  circumstances  which 
seemed  to  be  conspiring  to  goad  her  into  some  des- 
perate act. 

Lord  Earlshope  listened  patiently  and  attentively, 
deeply  interested,  and  yet  inclined  to  smile  sometimes. 

"  I  should  laugh  at  all  that,"  said  he,  when  she  had 
finished,  because  I  am  a  man;  and  men  are  in- 
different to  these  delicate  considerations  chiefly  because 
they  can  avoid  them.  If  a  man  dislikes  the  people  he 
is  among,  he  has  merely  to  go  away.  But  a  woman  is 
very  dependent  on  the  temper  and  disposition  of  those 


76  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

around  her  ;  and  you  especially  seem  almost  without  re 
source.     You  have  no  other  relatives  ?  " 

"  No,  "  said  Coquette. 

"  No  lady  friend  with  whom  you  could  stay  ? 

"  Many — many  with  whom  I  should  like  to  stay," 
said  the  girl,  "  but  they  are  all  in  France ;  and  I  have 
been  sent  here.  Yet  you  must  not  misunderstand  what 
I  do  say.  I  do  not  dislike  my  relatives.  My  uncle  is 
a  very  good  man,  and  very  kind  to  me.  My  cousin,  I 
do  think,  is  more  than  kind  to  me,  and  ready  to  incur 
danger  in  defending  my  faults.  The  other  people  can- 
not be  angry  with  me,  for  I  have  done  them  no  harm. 
Yet  everything  is  wrong  ;  I  do  not  know  how.  At  this 
moment  I  know  myself  very  guilty  in  coming  to  see 
you  ;  and  I  should  not  have  come  but  that  Cousin  Tom 
would  not  speak  to  me." 

"  I  think  Cousin  Tom  has  been  quarrelling  with  you 
about  me,"  said  Lord  Earlshope. 

He  spoke  very  quietly,  and  with  rather  an  amused 
air;  but  Coquette  was  startled  and  a  little  alarmed. 
She  did  not  wish  her  companion  to  know  that  he  had 
anything  to  do  with  what  had  occurred. 

"  Now"  said  Lord  Earlshope,  "  it  would  be  a  great 
pity  if  I  were  the  cause  of  your  troubles.  You  see  I 
have  no  companions  here — you  have  not  many.  It 
seemed  to  me  that  we  might  often  have  a  very  pleasant 
chat  or  walk  together  ;  but  I  must  not  be  selfish.  You 
must  not  suffer  anything  on  my  account  ;  so,  if  your 
friends  at  the  Manse  are  inclined  to  mistake  our  brief 
acquaintanceship,  let  it  cease.  I  do  not  like  to  see  you 
as  you  are.  You  are  evidently  out  of  sorts,  for  you 
have  never  laughed  this  morning,  yet,  nor  run  off  the 
road,  nor  paid  the  least  attention  to  the  sunlight  or  the 
colors  of  the  sea  out  yonder.  I  should  far  prefer  look- 
ing at  you  from  a  distance  as  an  entire  stranger,  if  I  could 
see  you  as  you  usually  are,  fluttering  about  like  a  butter- 
fly, enjoying  the  warmth  and  colors  and  light  around 
you,  without  a  care,  and  quite  unconscious  how  perfectly 
happy  you  are." 

As  Coquette  heard  these  words,  uttered  in  a  cruelly 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH.  ^ 

calm  and  kindly  voice,  she  became  afraid.  What  was 
this  strange  aching  sense  of  disappointment  that  filled 
her  heart  ?  Why  was  it  that  she  contemplated  with  dis- 
may a  proposal  which  he  had  clearly  shown  would 
secure  her  happiness  and  peace  ?  She  was  miserable 
before ;  she  was  ten  times  more  wretched  now. 

He  did  not  seem  to  notice  any  alteration  in  her  ex- 
pression or  manner.  They  had  got  to  the  crest  of  a 
hill  from  which  the  line  of  the  coast  was  visible,  with 
a  plain  of  green  sunlit  sea  beyond,  and  Arran  lying 
like  a  great  blue  cloud  on  the  horizon.  A  white  haze 
of  heat  rilled  the  south,  and  the  distant  Ailsa  Craig  was 
of  a  pearly  gray. 

Coquette's  companion  uttered  an  exclamation. 
"  Do  you  see  that  yacht  ?  "  said  he,  pointing  to  a  boat 
which  the  distance  rendered ;  very  small  a  schooner 
yacht  with  her  two  masts  lying  rakishly  back,  and  her 
white  sails  shining  in  the  sun,  as  she  cut  through  the 
green  water  with  a  curve  of  white  round  her  prow. 

"  It  is  a  stunning  little  boat,"  said  Coquette,  simply, 
returning  to  the  English  which  she  had  picked  up  from 
her  father. 

Lord  Earlshope  did  not  laugh  at  her  blunder  as  the 
Whaup  would  have  laughed.  He  merely  said, — 

"  She  has  been  lying  at  Greenock  to  be  repainted  and 
set  to  rights  ;  and  I  telegraphed  to  have  the  name  altered 
as  well.  The  first  time  you  go  down  to  Ardrossan  you 
will  find  lying  there  a  yacht  bearing  the  name — 
'  COQUETTE.'  ' 

"  Do  you  know,"  said  Coquette,  breaking  at  last  into 
a  smile,  "  everybody  did  use  to  call  me  that  ?  " 

"  So  I  heard  from  one  of  your  cousins  the  other  day/' 
said  her  companion. 

"  And  you  called  the  boat  for  me  ?  "  she  said,  with  a 
look  of  wonder. 

"  Yes  ;  I  took  the  liberty  of  naming  it  after  your  pet 
name,  I  hope  you  are  not  angry  with  me  ?  " 

"  No,"  she  said,  "  I  am  very  well  pleased,  very  much, 
it  is  a  very  kind  compliment  to  do  that,  is  it  not  ?  But 
you  have  not  told  me  you  had  a  yacht." 


78  A  DAUGHTER  OP  HETH. 

"  It  is  one  of  my  abandoned  amusements.  I  wanted 
to  surprise  you,  though  ;  and  I  had  some  wild  hope  of 
inveigling  Mr.  Cassilis,  yourself,  and  your  cousin  into 
going  for  a  day  or  two's  cruise  up  some  of  the  lochs, 
Loch  Fyne,  Loch  Linnhe,  or  some  of  these.  It  would 
have  been  pleasant  for  you,  I  think,  as  you  don't  know 
anything  of  the  West  Highland  lochs  and  mountains. 
The  scenery  is  the  most  varied  of  any  I  have  ever  seen 
and  more  picturesque  in  the  way  of  color.  You  can  have 
no  idea  of  the  weirdness  and  wildness  of  the  northern 
sunsets  ;  and  of  late  I  have  been  picturing  you  to  my- 
self sitting  on  deck  with  us  after  the  sun  had  gone  down 
behind  a  line  of  hill,  and  I  have  read  in  your  face  the 
wonder  with  which  you  saw  the  mountains  become  a 
great  bank  of  purple,  with  a  pale-green  light  spreading 
up  and  over  the  sky,  and  spreading  all  over  the  sea,  the 
stillness  of  the  place,  the  calling  of  the  wild-fowl,  the 
dense  and  mysterious  darkness  of  the  mountains  in  the 
glow  of  cold,  clear  light.  Do  you  think  Mr.  Cassilis 
would  have  gone  ? " 

"  I  do  not  know,"  said  Coquette. 

She  was  becoming  hard  and  obdurate  again.  He  had 
spoken  of  this  project  as  a  thing  of  the  past.  It  was  no 
longer  possible ;  but  the  mere  mention  of  it  had  filled 
Coquette  with  a  wistful  longing.  It  would  have  been 
pleasant,  indeed,  to  have  gone  away  on  this  dream-like 
excursion;  and  wandered  round  the  lonely  islands,  and  up 
the  great  stretches  of  sea-lochs  of  which  her  father  had 
many  a  time  spoken  to  her  when  she  was  a  child.  Never- 
theless, since  her  companion  had  chosen  to  give  up  the 
proposal,  she  would  not  ask  him  to  reconsider  his  re- 
solve. They  were  about  to  become  strangers  :  well  and 
good. 

"I  must  go  back  now,"  she  said. 

He  looked  at  her  with  surprise. 

"  Have  I  offended  you  by  telling  you  what  I  had  been 
dreaming  about  ?  After  all,  it  was  but  a  fancy,  and  I 
beg  your  pardon  for  not  saying  first  of  all  that  I  was  far 
from  sure  that  you  yourself  would  go,  even  had  I  per- 
suaded Mr.  Cassilis." 


A  DA  UGHTER  OF  HE  77 f.  7  y 

"  No,  you  have  not  offended  me,"  said  Coquette. 
"  Your  thought  was  very  kind.  But  I  am  sorry  it  is  all 
over." 

"  I  see  I  have  not  brought  you  peace  of  mind  yet,"  he 
said  gently.  "  You  are  not  Miss  Cassilis,  may  I  say  that 
you  are  not  Coquette  ? — this  morning.  What  can  I  do 
for  you  ?  I  wish  you  would  talk  to  me  as  if  I  were  your 
elder  brother,  and  tell  me  if  there  is  anything  in  which 
I  can  help  you.  Shall  I  go  up  to  the  Manse  and  hint  to 
Mr.  Cassilis  that,  that,  well,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I  should 
be  at  a  loss  to  know  what  to  hint." 

He  smiled,  but  she  was  quite  grave. 

"  There  is  nothing,"  she  said.  "  They  are  very  good 
to  me,  what  more  ?  Do  not  let  us  talk  of  it  any  more. 
Let  us  talk  of  something  else.  Why  do  you  never  go  in 
your  yacht  ?  " 

"  Because  I  lost  interest  in  it,  as  I  lost  interest  in  a 
dozen  other  things.  Steeple-chasing  was  my  longest- 
lived  hobby,  I  think,  for  I  used  to  be  rather  successful. 
Riding  nine  stone  six,  with  a  five-pound  saddle,  I  have 
won  more  than  one  race." 

"  And  now  you  only  read  books  and  smoke,  and  fell 
trees  in  the  cold  weather  to  make  you  warm.  What 
books  ?  Romances  ? " 

"  Yes  ;  and  the  more  improbable  the  better." 

"  You  get  interested  ? " 

M  Yes  ;  but  not  in  the  story.  I  read  the  story,  and 
try  to  look  at  the  brain  of  the  writer  all  the  time.  Then 
you  begin  to  wonder  at  the  various  notions  of  the  world 
these  various  heads  have  conceived.  If  I  were  a  physi- 
ologist, I  should  like  to  read  a  novel,  and  draw  a  picture 
of  the  author  gathered  from  the  coloring  and  sentiments 
of  his  book." 

"  That  is  all  so  very  morbid,"  she  said.  "  And  in 
your  poetry,  too,  I  suppose  you  like  the — ah,  I  cannot 
say  what  I  mean." 

"  But  I  understand  all  the  same,"  he  said,  laughing, 
"  and  I  am  going  to  disappoint  you,  if  you  have  formed 
a  theory.  I  like  old-fashioned  poetry,  and  especially  the 
lyrics  of  the  old  dramatists.  Then  poetry  was  wide  as 


go  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

life  itself,  and  included  everything  that  could  interest  a 
man.  A  writer  was  not  afraid  to  talk  of  everyday  ex- 
periences, and  was  gay,  or  patriotic,  or  sarcastic,  just  as 
the  moment  suited.  But  don't  you  think  the  poetry  of 
the  present  time  is  only  the  expression  of  one  mood,  that 
it  is  permeated  all  through  with  sadness  and  religious 
melancholy  ?  What  do  you  say,  Mr.  Cassilis  ?  " 

The  abrupt  question  was  addressed  to  the  Minister. 
Coquette  had  been  walking  carelessly  onward,  with  her 
eyes  bent  on  the  ground,  and  had  not  perceived  the  ap- 
proach of  her  uncle.  When  she  heard  the  sudden  ter- 
mination of  Lord  Earlshope's  disquisition  on  poetry,  she 
looked  up  with  a  start,  and  turned  pale.  The  Minister's 
eyes  she  found  fixed  upon  her,  and  she  dared  not  return 
that  earnest  look. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Lord  Earlshope,"  said  Mr.  Cas- 
silis, looking  calmly  at  both  of  them. 

"  I  was  victimizing  your  niece,  whom  I  had  the  good 
fortune  to  meet,  with  a  sermon  on  modern  poetry,"  said 
Lord  Earlshope,  lightly  ;  "  and  as  she  seemed  to  pay  no 
attention  to  me,  I  appealed  to  you.  However,  the  sub- 
ject is  not  an  enticing  one,  as  Miss  Cassilis  apparently 
discovered.  Which  way  are  you  walking'?  Shall  we 
join  you  ?" 

The  deep-set  eyes  of  the  Minister,  under  the  gray 
eyebrows,  were  closely  regarding  the  speaker  during  the 
utterance  of  these  words.  •  Mr.  Cassilis  was  satisfied,  so 
far  as  Lord  Earlshope  was  concerned.  No  actor  could 
have  been  so  obviously  and  wholly  at  ease,  the  fact  being 
that  the  young  man  did  not  even  suspect  that  he  had 
become  an  object  of  suspicion.  He  had  not  inveigled 
the  Minister's  niece  into  a  secret  interview  ;  on  the  con- 
trary, he  had,  mainly  by  chance,  met  a  pleasant  and 
pretty  neighbor  out  for  her  morning  walk,  and  why  should 
he  not  speak  to  her  ? 

But  when  the  Minister  turned  to  Coquette  he  found 
a  different  story  written  on  her  face — a  story  that  caused 
him  some  concern.  She  appeared  at  once  embarassed 
and  distressed.  She  said  nothing,  and  looked  at  neither 
of  ttrem  ;  but  there  was  in  her  eyes  (bent  on  a  bit  of 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETff-  $t 

heather  she  was  pulling  to  pieces)  an  expression  of  con- 
straint and  disquiet,  which  was  plainly  visible  to  him,  if 
not  to  Lord  Earlshope. 

"  If  you  will  relieve  me  from  the  duties  of  escort," 
said  the  latter  to  Mr.  Cassilis,  "I  think  I  shall  bid  you 
both  good  morning,  as  I  have  to  walk  over  to  Altyre 
Farm  and  back  before  luncheon." 

So  he  parted  from  them,  Coquette  not  daring  to  look 
up  as  he  shook  hands  with  her.  She  and  the  Minister 
were  left  alone. 

For  a  minute  or  two  they  walked  on  in  silence,  and 
it  seemed  to  Coquette  that  the  hour  of  her  deepest  trib- 
ulation had  come.  So  bright  and  happy  had  been  the 
life  of  this  young  creature,  that  with  her  to  be  downcast 
was  to  be  miserable,  to  be  suspected  was  equivalent  to 
being  guilty.  Suspicion  she  could  not  bear,  secrecy 
seemed  to  suffocate  her ;  and  she  had  now  but  one  de- 
spairing notion  in  her  head — to  escape  and  fly  from  this 
lonely  northern  place  whither  she  had  been  sent,  to  get 
away  from  a  combination  of  circumstances  that  appeared 
likely  to  overwhelm  her. 

14  Uncle,"  she  said,  "  may  I  go  back  to  France  ?  " 

"  My  child  !  "  said  Mr.  Cassilis,  in  amazement,  "  what 
is  the  matter  ?  Surely  you  do  not  mean  that  your  short 
stay  with  us  has  been  disagreeable  to  you  ?  I  have  no- 
ticed, it  is  true,  that  you  have  of  late  been  rather  out  of 
sorts,  but  judged  it  was  but  some  "temporary  indisposi- 
tion. Has  anything  annoyed  you — have  you  any  cause 
of  complaint? 

"  Complaint !  "  she  said  ;  "when  you  have  been  so 
kind  to  me  ?  No,  no  complaint.  But  I  do  think  I  am 
not  good  enough  for  this  place.  I  am  sorry  I  cannot 
satisfy,  although  I  put  away  all  my  pictures  and  books, 
and  the  crucifix,  so  that  no  one  can  see.  But  I  am  sus- 
pected, I  do  hear  them  talk  of  me  as  dangerous.  It  is 
natural,  it  is  right,  perhaps,  but  not  pleasant  to  me. 
Just  now,"  she  added,  desperately,  "you  think  I  did 
promise  to  meet  Lord  Earlshope,  and  you  did  come  to 
take  me  home." 


82  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

"  Had  you  not  promised  ?  "  said  the  Minister,  looking 
steadily  and  yet  affectionately  at  her. 

For  a  second  the  girl's  lip  trembled  :  but  the  next 
moment  she  was  saying  rapidly,  with  something  of  wild- 
ness  in  her  tone  and  manner, — 

"  I  did  not  promise  ;  no.  But  I  did  expect  to  see  him, 
I  did  hope  to  see  him  when  I  came  out ;  and  is  it  wrong  ? 
Is  it  wrong  for  me  to  speak  to  a  stranger,  when  I  do  see 
him  kind  to  me,  in  a  place  where  there  are  not  many 
amiable  people  ?  If  it  is  wrong  it  is  because  Lord  Earls- 
hope  is  not  suspicious  and  hard  and  illjudging  like  the 
others.  That  is  why  they  do  say  ill  of  him  ;  that  is  why 
they  persuade  me  to  think  ill  of  him.  I  do  not ;  I  will  not. 
Since  I  left  France  I  did  meet  no  one  so  courteous,  so 
friendly,  as  he  has  been.  Why  can  I  talk  to  him  so 
easily  ?  He  does  not  think  me  wicked  because  I  have  a 
crucifix  that  my  mother  gave  me,  that  is  why  we  are 
friends  ;  and  he  does  not  suspect  me.  But  it  is  all  over. 
We  are  not  to  be  friends  again  ;  we  may  see  each  other 
to-morrow;  we  shall  not  speak.  Shall  I  tell  Leesiebess? 
perhaps  it  will  please  her  !  " 

She  spoke  with  angry  and  bitter  vehemence  that  was 
strangely  out  of  consonance  with  her  ordinary  serenity 
of  demeanor.  The  Minister  took  her  hand  gently  in  his, 
saying  nothing  at  all  and  led  her  back  to  the  Manse. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

COQUETTE'S  CONQUESTS. 

THERE  ensued  a  long  period  of  rain,  day  after  day 
breaking  sullen  and  cold,  and  a  perpetual  drizzle  falling 
from  a  gray  and  cheerless  sky.  There  were  none  of  the 
sharp  and  heavy  showers  which  a  southwest  gale  brings, 
with  dashes  of  blue  between ;  but  a  slow,  fine,  wetting 
rain  that  rendered  everything  humid  and  limp,  and  hid 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  12 'E  TIL  83 

the  far-off  line  of  the  sea  and  the  mountains  of  Arran  be- 
hind a  curtain  of  gray  mist. 

Perhaps  it  was  the  forced  imprisonment  caused  by 
the  rain  which  made  Coquette  look  ill ;  but,  at  all  events, 
she  grew  so  pale  and  listless  that  even  the  boys  noticed 
it.  All  her  former  spirits  were  gone.  She  was  no  longer 
interested  in  their  sports,  and  aught  them  no  more  new 
games.  She  kept  much  to  her  own  room,  and  read  at 
a  window.  She  read  those  books  which  she  had  brought 
with  her  from  the  sunny  region  of  the  Loire  ;  and  when 
she  turned  from  the  open  page  to  look  out  upon  the  wet 
andmisty  landscape-all  around,  she  came  back  again  with 
a  sigh  to  the  volume  on  her  knee. 

Lord  Earlshope  never  came  near  the  Manse  ;  perhaps, 
she  thought  he  had  left  the  country.  The  only  communi- 
cation she  had  with  him  was  on  the  day  following  their 
last  meeting.  She  then  sent  him  a  note  consisting  of 
but  one  line,  which  was,  "  Please  do  not  call  your  boat 
'  Coquette.'  "  This  missive  she  had  intrusted  to  her 
Cousin  Wattie,  who  delivered  it,  and  returned  with  the 
answer  that  Lord  Earlshope  had  merely  said  "  All  right.'' 
Wattie,  however,  broke  the  confidence  reposed  in  him, 
and  told  his  brothers  that  he  had  been  sent  with  a 
message  to  Earlshope.  The  Whaup  profited  by  this  in- 
telligence, but  punished  Wattie  all  the  same  ;  for  on  that 
night  Coquette  heard  murmurings  and  complainings  un- 
derneath her  window.  She  looked  out.  There  was  some 
starlight,  and  she  could  indistinctly  see  a  figure  in  white 
moving  in  the  garden  underneath  that  building  the  upper 
story  of  which,  originally  a  hayloft,  had  been  transformed 
into  a  dormitory  for  the  boys.  The  cause  of  the  disturb- 
ance soon  became  apparent.  After  the  boys  had  un- 
dressed, the  Whaup  had  wheedled  or  compelled  Wattie 
into  making  a  rush  to  the  garden  for  some  fruit.  He  had 
then  taken  advantage  of  his  position  to  pull  the  laeder  into 
the  loft,  by  which  mean  device  his  brother  was  left  stand- 
ing below  in  his  night-shirt.  In  vain  Wattie  petitioned 
to  be  let  up  to  his  bed.  With  his  teeth  chattering  in  his 
head,  he  entreated  that  at  least  his  trousers  might  be 
flung  down  to  him  ;  but  he  was  not  relieved  from  punish- 


S4  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETff. 

ment  until  the  Whaup  had  administered  a  severe  lectur. 
to  him  on  the  shabbiness  of  betraying  a  lady's  confidence 

"  I'll  never  do't  again,  as  sure's  I'm  here  ? "  said 
Wattie,  who  was  feebly  endeavoring  to  mitigate  his  suffer- 
ings by  balancing  himself  on  his  toes,  a  feat  in  which  he 
naturally  failed. 

"  Since  it  won't  rain,"  said  the  Whaup,  looking  spite 
fully  at  the  clear  starlit  sky,  "  there  is  no  much  use  of 
keeping  you  there,  so  ye  may  hae  the  ladder." 

The  Whaup  never  spoke  to  Coquette  about  the  letter, 
but  it  was  the  occasion  of  his  prolonging  the  blockade 
which  he  had  declared.  He  deliberately  ignored  her  pres- 
ence. He  would  not  complain  of  her  keeping  up  what 
he  imagined  to  be  a  clandestine  correspondence  :  neither 
would  he  take  any  steps  to  put  an  end  to  it,  He  con- 
tented himself  with  thinking  that  if  ever  there  should  be 
necessity  for  confronting  Lord  Earlshope  personally, 
and  altering  matters  that  way,  there  would  be  one  per- 
son in  the  Manse  ready  to  adventure  something  for  the 
sake  of  Coquette. 

Nevertheless,  it  was  at  this  time,  and  it  was  through 
the  Whaup's  instrumentality,  that  Coquette  achieved  her 
first  great  victory  in  Airlie,  a  success  which  was  but  the 
beginning  of  a  strange  series  of  successes,  and  fraught 
with  important  consequences  to  her.  It  all  fell  about 
in  this  way.  First,  the  Whaup  relented.  When  the 
rain  began,  and  he  saw  his  French  cousin  mope  and 
pine  indoors,  when  he  saw  how  she  was  growing  languid 
and  listless,  and  still  strove  to  be  cheerful  and  amiable 
to  those  around  her,  his  reserve  broke  down.  By  insen- 
sible degrees  he  tried  to  re-establish  their  old  relations. 
He  showed  her  little  attentions,  and  performed  towards 
her  small  acts  of  thoughtfulness  and  kindness,  which  she 
was  not  slow  to  acknowledge.  He  was  not  impudently 
and  patronizingly  good  to  her,  as  he  had  been,  there  was 
a  certain  restraint  over  his  approaches  ;  but  she  met 
them  all  with  that  simplicity  of  gratitude  which  the  dark 
eyes  and  the  sweet  face  could  so  readily  and  effectually 
express  when  her  imperfect  English  failed  her.  And 


A  DA  UGHTER  OF  HE  TIL  85 

the  Whaup  no  longer  corrected  her  blunders  with  his 
old  scornful  impatience. 

One  morning  there  was  a  temporary  cessation  of 
ain. 

"  Why  don't  you  go  down  and  return  the  Pensioner's 
visit  ?  "  said  the  Whaup  to  Coquette. 

"  If  you  please,  I  will  go." 

For  the  first  time  for  many  a  day  these  two  went 
out  of  the  Manse  together.  It  was  like  a  revival  of  the 
old  times,  though  the  Whaup  would  not  have  believed 
you  had  you  told  him  how  short  a  space  Coquette  had 
actually  lived  in  Airlie.  The  cold  and  damp  wind  brought 
a  tinge  of  color  to  the  girl's  cheeks  ;  the  Whaup  thought 
he  had  never  seen  her  look  so  pleasant  and  pretty. 

While  Coquette  lingered  in  the  small  garden  of  the 
cottage,  the  Whaup  went  up  to  the  door  and  told  the 
Pensioner  who  had  come  to  see  him. 

"  Cot  pless  me  !  "  he  hastily  exclaimed,  looking  down 
at  his  legs.  "  Keep  her  in  sa  garden  till  I  change  my 
breaks." 

"What  for?"  said  the  Whaup. 

"  Dinna  ye  see  sey  are  tartan  ! "  cried  Neil,  in  an 
excited  whisper,  "  and  sa  French  canna  stand  sa  tartan." 

"  Nonsense,"  said  the  Whaup.  "  She  won't  look  at 
your  trousers." 

"  It  is  no  nonsense,  but  very  good  sense  whatever," 
said  the  Highlandman.  "  It  wass  two  friends  o'  mine, 
and  they  went  over  to  France  sa  very  last  year,  and  one 
o'  them,  sey  took  his  bags  and  his  luggage,  ard  sey  pulled 
sis  way  and  sat  way,  and  sey  will  sweer  at  him  in  French, 
but  he  will  not  know  what  it  wass  said  to  him,  and  sey 
will  take  many  things  from  him,  mirover,  and  he  will 
not  know  why.  But,  said  I  to  him,  '  Tonald,  will  you 
have  on  your  tartan  plaid  round  your  shoulders  ? '  And 
says  he, '  I  had.'  And  said  I  to  him,  '  Did  you  will  no  ken 
how  sa  French  canna  stand  sa  tartan  ever  since  Water- 
loo ? '  " 

The  Pensioner  ran  inside,  and  speedily  reappeared  in 
plain  gray.  Then  he  came  out,  and  bade  Coquette  wel- 
come with  a  dignified  courtesy  that  surprised  her. 


86  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH.    * 

"  You  would  not  come  to  see  me,  so  I  have  come  to 
see  you,"  she  said  to  the  old  man. 

"  It  wasna  for  the  likes  o'  me  to  visit  a  leddy,"  said 
Neil. 

He  dusted  a  chair  with  his  sleeve,  and  asked  her  to 
sit  down.  Then  he  put  three  glasses  on  the  table,  and 
brought  out  a  black  bottle.  He  rilled  one  of  the  glasses 
and  offered  it  to  Coquette. 

"  She  can't  drink  whiskey  !  "  said  the  Whaup,  with 
a  rude  laugh. 

"  It  is  sa  rale  Lagavulin,"  said  Neil,  indignantly,  "  and 
wouldna  harm  a  flea." 

Coquette  put  the  glass  to  her  lips,  and  then  placed  it 
on  the  table. 

"  Ye  may  drink  it  up,  mem,"  said  Neil.  "  Do  ye  ken 
that  ye  can  drink  sa  goot  whiskey  until  ye  stagger,  and 
it  will  do  ye  no  harm  in  sa  morning  ?  I  do  pelieve  it  is 
sa  finest  sing  in  the  world's  universe,  a  gran'  good 
stagger  as  ye  will  go  home  in  sa  night." 

"  You  have  been  in  battle  ? "  said  Coquette,  by  way 
of  changing  the  conversation. 

"  Oh,  yes,  mem,"  said  Neil,  looking  desperately  un- 
comfortable. "  It  wass — it  wass — it  wass  in  a  war." 

"  Have  you  been  in  more  than  one  war  ? "  she  asked. 

"  No,  mem — yes,  mem,"  stammered  Neil,  in  great 
embarrassment,  as  he  glanced  to  see  that  his  tartan 
trousers  were  well  shoved  under  the  bed  ;  "  but  it  is  no 
matter  how  many  wars.  It  will  pe  all  over  pefore  you 
were  porn,  never  mind  about  sa  wars." 

"  I  hear  you  were  at  Waterloo,"  said  Coquette,  inno- 
cently. 

The  Pensioner  jumped  to  his  feet. 

"Who  wass  it  tellt  you  of  Waterloo?"  said  he,  in 
great  indignation.  "  I  never  heard  sa  like.  It  wass  a 
shame — and  I  would  not  take  a  hundred  pounds  and  for- 
get mysel'  like  sat.  And  you  will  be  blaming  us  Hie- 
landers  for  what  we  did,  and  we  did  a  goot  teal  there, 
but  there  wass  others  too.  There  wass  English  there  too. 
And  the  French,  sey  fought  well,  as  every  one  o'  us 
will  tell  ye ;  and  I  wouldna  sink  too  much  o't,  for  maype 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH.  87 

it  isna  true  sat  Napoleon  died  on  sa  island.     Diclna  he 
come  pack  pefore  ?  " 

Having  offered  Coquette  this  grain  of  comfort,  Neil 
hastily  escaped  from  the  subject  by  getting  his  violin 
and  beginning  to  screw  up  the  strings. 

"  I  have  been  learning  a  lot  of  your  Scotch  airs,"  said 
Coquette, "  and  I  have  become  very  fond  of  some  of  them  ; 
the  sad  ones  especially.  But  I  suppose  you  prefer  the 
lively  ones  for  the  violin." 

"  I  can  play  sem  all  every  one  together,"  said  Neil 
proudly.  "  I  do  not  play  sem  well,  but  I  know  all  our 
music — every  one." 

"  You  play  a  great  deal  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Neil,  fondling  his  violin  affectionately 
"  I  do  not  play  sa  fiddle  much,  but  I  like  to  be  aye  play- 
ing." 

There  was  a  touch  of  pathos  in  the  reply  which  did 
not  escape  the  delicate  perception  of  his  guest.  She 
looked  at  the  old  man,  at  his  scanty  gray  hair  and  dazed 
eyes,  and  was  glad  that  he  had  this  constant  companion 
to  amuse  and  interest  him.  He  did  not  like  to  play  much, 
to  make  a  labor  of  this  recreation  ;  but  he  liked  to  have 
the  tinkle  of  the  tight  strings  always  present  to  his  ear. 

He  played  her  a  selection  of  his  best  airs,  with  many 
an  apology.  He  chatted  about  the  tunes,  too,  and  told 
tales  concerning  them,  until  he  was  as  familiar  with  the 
young  lady  as  though  he  had  known  her  a  lifetime,  and 
she  was  laughing  at  his  odd  stories  more  than  she  had 
laughed  for  many  a  day.  At  last  she  said, 

"  That  '  Flower  of  the  Forest'  is  a  beautiful  air,  but 
you  want  it  harmonized.  Will  you  come  up  to  the  Manse 
now,  and  I  will  try  to  play  it  for  you  ?  I  have  been  try- 
ing it  much  lately." 

So  the  Pensioner  walked  up  to  the  Manse  with  them, 
and  soon  found  himself  in  Coquette's  parlor.  His  host- 
tess  remembered  how  she  had  been  received,  and  went 
into  the  room  adjoining  for  a  second  or  two.  When  she 
returned  there  was  a  small  bottle  in  her  hand. 

"  This  is  some  French  brandy  which  my  old  nurse 


88  <*  DAUGHTER  OF  HE  TIL 

• 

gave  me  when  I  left,  in  case  I  should  be  ill  at  sea  ;  you 
see  I  have  not  even  opened  the  bottle." 

The  Whaup  got  a  corkscrew  and  a  glass,  and  soon 
had  half  a  tumblerful  of  the  brandy  to  offer  Neil.  The 
Pensioner  looked  at  it,  smelt  it,  said  "  Deoch  slainte  !  " 
and,  to  the  horror  of  Coquette,  gulped  it  down.  The 
next  moment  his  face  was  a  mass  of  moving  muscles, 
twisting  and  screwing  into  every  expression  of  agony, 
while  he  gasped  and  choked,  and  could  only  say,  "  Wa- 
ter !  water  ! "  But  when  the  Whaup  quickly  poured  him 
out  a  glass  of  water,  he  regarded  it  at  arm's-length  for  a 
second,  and  then  put  it  away. 

"  No,"  he  said,  with  his  face  still  screwed  up  to 
agony  pitch,  "  I  can  thole." 

Coquette  did  not  understand  what  had  happened ; 
but  when  her  cousin,  with  unbecoming  frankness,  ex- 
plained to  her  that  the  Pensioner  would  rather  "  thole" 
(or  suffer)  the  delicious  torture  in  his  throat  than  spoil 
it  with  water,  she  was  nearly  joining  in  the  Whaup's  im- 
pudent laughter. 

But  the  brandy  had  no  perceptible  effect  on  Neil. 
He  sat  and  listened  sedately  to  the  music  she  played  ; 
and  it  was  only  when  his  enthusiasm  was  touched  that 
he  broke  out  with  some  exclamation  of  delight.  At 
length  the  old  man  left ;  the  Whaup  also  going  away  to 
those  exceptional  studies  which  had  been  recently  im- 
posed on  him  as  a  condition  of  his  remaining  at  Airlie. 

Coquette  sat  alone  at  the  piano.  The  gray  day  was 
darkening  to  the  afternoon,  and  the  rain  had  begun  again 
its  wearisome  patter  on  the  pane.  She  had  French 
music  before  her,  bright  and  laughing  songs  of  the  by- 
gone and  happy  time,  but  she  could  not  sing  them.  Al- 
most unconsciously  to  herself,  she  followed  the  wander 
ings  of  her  fancy  in  the  dreamland  of  that  old  and  plain- 
tive music  that  she  had  recently  discovered.  Now  it 
was  "  Bothwell  Bank,"  again  it  was  "  The  Land  o'  the 
Leal "  that  filled  the  room  with  its  sadness,  until  she 
came  back  again  to  "The  Flowers  of  the  Forest."  She 
sang  a  verse  of  it,  merely  out  of  caprice,  to  see  if 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HRTH.  89 

she  could  master  the  pronunciation,  and  just  as  she  had 
finished,  the  door  opened,  and  Leezibeth  stood  there. 

Coquette  turned  from  the  piano  with  a  sigh  :  doubt- 
less Leezibeth  had  come  to  prefer  some  complaint. 

The  woman  came  up  to  her  and  said,  with  the  most 
painful  shamefacedness  clouding  her  look, — 

"  Will  ye  sing  that  again,  miss,  if  it  is  no  much  trou- 
ble to  ye  ?  Maybe  ye'll  no  ken  that  me  and  Andrew 
had  a  boy,  a  bit  laddie  that  dee'd  when  he  was  but  seven 
years  auld — and — and  he  used  to  sing  the  '  Flowers  o' 
the  Forest '  afore  a'  the  other  songs  ;  and  ye  sing  it  that 
fine  that  if  it  didna  mak'  a  body  amaist  like  to  greet — " 

She  never  finished  the  sentence  ;  but  the  girl  sang 
the  rest  of  the  song,  and  the  woman  stood,  with  her 
eyes  turned  to  the  gray  evening  outside,  silent.  And 
from  that  day  Leezibeth  was  the  slave  of  Coquette. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

A   HOROSCOPE. 

EVENTS  were  marching  on  at  Airlie.  Leezibeth 
came  to  Coquette,  and  said, — 

"  Sir  Peter  and  Lady  Drum,  came  back  frae  Edin- 
burgh last  night." 

Coquette  remained  silent,  and  Leezibeth  was  aston 
ished.  Was  it  possible  the  girl  had  never  heard  of  Sir 
Peter  and  Lady  Drum  ? 

"And  I  saw  my  lady  this  morning,  and  she  is  com- 
ing to  see  you  this  very  afternoon,"  said  Leezibeth, 
certain  she  had  now  effected  a  surprise. 

"Who  are  they?"  said  Coquette.  "Are  they  Scotch? 
I  do  not  wish  to  see  any  more  Scotch." 

"  Ma  certes  ! "  said  Leezibeth,  firing  up  suddenly  ; 
but  presently  she  said,  in  a  voice  more  gentle  than  Co- 
quette had  ever  heard  her  use,  "  Ye'll  maybe  like 


90  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HE  Til. 

the  Scotch  folk  yet,  miss,  when  ye  hae  time  to  under- 
stand them  ;  and  Lady  Drum  is  a  grand  woman,  just  an 
extraordinar'  woman ;  and  I  told  her  a'  about  ye,  miss, 
and  she  was  greatly  interested,  as  I  could  see  ;  and  I 
made  bold,  miss,  to  say  that  ye  were  a  bit  out  o'  sorts 
the  now,  and  if  my  lady  would  but  ask  ye  ower  to  Cas- 
tle Cawmil,  and  let  ye  hae  some  company  mair  fitted  to 
ye  than  us  bodies  about  the  Manse,  it  might  cheer  ye 
up  a  bit,  and  bring  a  bit  color  to  your  cheek." 

Coquette  was  really  surprised  now.  Could  it  be 
Leezibeth  her  enemy,  who  was  speaking  in  this  timidly 
solicitous  fashion  ? 

"  It  is  very  good  of  you " 

"  Oh,  we  are  no  so  bad  as  ye  think  us,"  said  Leezi- 
beth, plucking  up  courage.  "And  there  is  Scotch 
blood  in  your  ain  veins,  miss,  as  anybody  can  see — for 
the  way  ye  sing  they  Scotch  songs  is  just  past  be- 
lievin'  ! " 

From  Coquette's  sitting-room  Leezibeth  went 
straight  to  the  Minister's  study. 

"  I  hae  come  to  speak  to  ye,  sir.  about  Miss  Cas- 
silis." 

"  Dear  me  !  "  said  the  Minister,  impatiently,  "  I  wish 
ye  would  let  my  niece  alone,  Leezibeth." 

But  the  Minister  was  no  less  astonished  than  Co- 
quette had  been  when  Leezibeth  unfolded  her  tale,  and 
made  it  apparent  that  she  had  come  to  intercede  for  the 
young  French  girl.  Leezibeth  stood  at  the  door,  and 
announced  it  as  her  decision  that  the  Minister  was 
bound  to  see  to  his  niece's  health  and  comfort  more  ef- 
fectually than  he  had  done.  She  spoke,  indeed,  as  if 
she  dared  the  Minister  to  refuse. 

"  And  Sir  Peter  and  my  lady  are  coming  here,"  con- 
tinued Leezibeth,  "  for  I  met  them  as  they  were  going 
over  to  Earlshope  ;  and  my  lady  spoke  to  me  about  Miss 
Cassilis,  and  will  doubtless  ask  her  to  visit  her.  Not 
only  maun  she  visit  Castle  Cawmil,  but  she  maun  stay 
there,  sir,  until  the  change  has  done  the  lassie  good." 

"  What  is  the  meaning  of  all  this,  Leezibeth  ?  "  said 
the  Minister.  "  Has  she  bewitched  you  ?  Yesterday 


A  DA  UGHTER  OF  HE  TH.  g  l 

you  would  have  said  of  her,  '  She  is  a  Samaritan,  and 
hath  a  devil.'  Now  she  has  become  your  Benjamir,  as 
it  were.  What  will  Andrew  say  ?  " 

"  Let  the  body  mind  his  pease  and  his  pittawties, 
and  no  interfere  wi'  me,"  said  Leezibeth,  with  a  touch 
of  vigorous  contempt. 

Nevertheless,  Leezibeth  had  a  conversation  with  her 
husband  very  shortly  after,  and  was  a  good  deal  more 
cautious  in  her  speech  than  was  her  wont.  When  An- 
drew came  into  the  kitchen  to  have  his  dinner,  she  said, 

"  Andrew,  my  man,  I'm  thinkin'  we  dinna  under- 
stand they  Romans.  Could  ye  but  see  the  gude  books 
that  that  lassie  has  wi'  her,  and  see  her  read  a  bit  o'  one 
o'  them  every  night  and  every  mornin' — indeed,  I'm 
thinkin',  Andrew,  the  Romans  maun  be  a  kind  o'  reli- 
gious folk,  after  a1." 

Andrew  said  "  Hm  !  "  and  went  on  with  his  broth. 

"I  wonder,"  continued  Leezibeth,  regarding  her  hus- 
band with  some  apprehension,  "  whether  there  is  ony 
harm  in  the  bit  pictures,  she  has.  It's  my  opeenion  she 
doesna  worship  them,  as  if  they  were  a  graven  eemage, 
but  has  them,  maybe,  to  jog  her  memory.  Ye  ken,  An- 
drew, that  there  was  a  gran'  difference  atween  the  gow« 
den  calf  that  the  children  o'  Israel  made  and  the  brazen 
serpent  that  the  Lord  commanded  Moses  to  lift  up  in  tkt 
wilderness." 

"  Whatever  is  the  woman  at  ?  "  muttered  Andrew  to 
himself,  over  his  plate. 

"The  serpent  was  only  a  sign  and  a  symbol,  the 
foreshadowin'  o'  what  was  to  come ;  and  surely  Moses 
kenned  what  he  was  doin'  and  didna,  transgress.  Now, 
Andrew,  if  the  Romans,  children  o'  wrath  as  they  are, 
have  a  bit  cross  or  a  crucifix  only  as  a  sort  o'  remem- 
brance, there  is  mayhap  no  so  muckle  harm  in  it." 

Andrew  dropped  his  spoon  into  the  broth,  and  sat 
bolt  upright  in  his  chair. 

"  Am  I  listenin',  or  dreamin'  woman  ?  What  evil 
spirit  is  it  that  has  put  these  things  into  your  mouth,  and 
linked  ye  wi'  them  whaus  feet  are  set  in  hell  ?  Are  ye 
clean  daunert,  woman,  that  ye  should  come  as  an  apolo- 


9  2  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HE  TIL 

gist  for  such  tolk,  and  tread  the  blood  o'  the  covenant 
under  foot  ?  Nae  wonder  they  have  their  crucifixes  and 
their  pictures,  for  it  is  their  judgment  that  they  maun 
look  upon  Him  whom  they  have  pierced,  and  mourn  their 
lost  condition.  And  it  is  this  lassie  that  has  done  it  a', 
as  I  said  frae  the  first.  'Tvvas  a  sad  day  for  us  that  she 
came  to  Airlie  ;  the  Manse  has  never  been  itsel'  since 
then.  Yet  never  did  I  think  to  hear  such  words  from  a 
woman  well  brought  up  as  ye  have  been  ;  and  it  fears 
me  to  think  what  will  be  the  end  o't." 

"  Bless  me  !  "  said  Leezibeth,  tesrily,  "  I  only  asked 
for  your  opeenion." 

"  And  my  opeenion  is."  said  Andrew,  "  that  the  time 
is  coming  when  ye  will  see  this  woman  in  her  true  colors, 
and  she  will  no  longer  be  a  snare  to  the  feet  o'  them  that 
would  walk  decently  and  uprightly.  Ye  hae  been  led 
awa'  by  the  tempter,  Leezibeth,  and  the  fair  things  o  'the 
world  hae  been  set  before  ye,  and  the  kingdoms  thereof, 
and  your  eyes  are  blinded.  But  there  will  come  a  day, 
and  that  soon,  when  this  Manse  will  see  a  change,  and 
her  that  has  entered  it  will  be  driven  forth  to  seek  another 
people.  Dinna  be  beguiled  in  the  meantime,  Leezibeth. 
The  end  is  comin',  and  her  pictures  and  her  crucifixes 
will  not  save  her  then." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Andrew  ?  "  said  his  wife,  who 
was  nearly  in  tears.  "  I  am  sure  the  lassie  has  done  no 
wrong.  I  declare  my  heart  feels  for  her  when  I  see  her 
sittin'  by  the  window,  a'  by  herself,  looking  out  at  nae- 
thing,  and  a  fair  wecht  o'  weariness  and  patience  on  her 
face.  If  she  had  a  mother,  now,  to  look  after  her  and 
speak  to  her " 

"And  how  long  is  it,"  said  Andrew,  "since  ye  hae 
taen  this  interest  in  her  ?  How  did  she  cast  her  wiles 
ower  ye  ? " 

Leezibeth  did  not  answer.  She  was  thinking  of  the 
vague  and  dreadful  future  which  Andrew  had  been  proph- 
esying. 

"  Let  her  alone,  leave  her  to  hersel',"  said  Andrew. 
"  I  warn  ye  against  this  woman,  Leezibeth,  as  I  hae 
warned  the  Minister,  though  he  would  take  nae  heed, 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HE  Til.  93 

and  leaves  her  wi'  a'  her  idolatrous  implements  free  to 
work  destruction  in  the  midst  o'  a  decent  and  God-fear- 
ing house.  Yet  in  time  this  will  be  changed,  and  we 
will  have  to  cast  out  the  serpent.  '  I  will  hedge  up  thy 
way  with  thorns,  and  make  a  wall,  that  she  shaM-not  find 
her  paths.  And  she  shall  follow  after  her  lovers,  but  she 
shall  not  overtake  them  ;  and  she  shall  seek  them,  but 
shall  not  find  them.' " 

"  Who  is  that  you  are  talking  about  ?  Is  it  my 
cousin?"  said  the  Whaup,  haughtily,  as  he  suddenly 
stood  before  them.  He  had  come  into  the  kitchen  hur- 
riedly, in  order  to  get  some  glue  for  a  "  dragon  "  which 
he  was  making  for  a  younger  brother,  and  had  heard  the 
latter  end  of  Andrew's  bitter  forecast. 

As  for  Leezibeth  she  had  turned  aside  in  deep  dis- 
tress. Her  newly  awakened  sympathy  for  the  girl  was 
rudely  troubled  by  those  sinister  anticipations  of  her 
husband,  and  she  did  not  know  what  to  think  of  them, 
but  Andrew,  who  had  for  the  moment  forgotten  his  broth, 
was  looking  up,  when  he  saw  the  Whaup  suddenly 
appear.  The  old  man's  face,  which  was  severe  enough 
as  he  spoke,  assumed  a  deep  frown  on  seeing  his  enemy. 
He  was  evidently  annoyed  at  being  "  caught,"  and  yet 
determined  to  brave  it  cut. 

"  Why,  you  canna  eat  your  dinner  without  stopping 
to  talk  spite  and  scandal, "  said  the  Whaup,  with  a  curl 
of  his  lip.  "  Canna  you  leave  that  to  women  ?  And  a  pretty 
Daniel  you  are,  wi'  your  prophecies  and  your  judgments 
and  your  warnings  ?  But  if  you  will  be  a  Daniel,  by  jingo 
I'll  make  this  house  worse  to  you  than  any  den  of  lions 
ever  ye  were  in  in  your  life  !  " 

The  Whaup  went  out  and  summoned  a  secret  conclave 
of  his  brothers.     The  VeJimgericJit  met  in  the  hayloft. 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETtt 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

SIR  PETER    AND    LADY  DRUM. 

COQUETTE,  sitting  quietly  in  the  general  parlor,  the 
Minister  being  busy  with  his  reading,  heard  voices  in  the 
hall,  and  one  of  them  startled  her.  Indeed  she  suddenly 
put  her  hand  to  her  heart,  having  felt  a  quick  flutter,  as 
of  pain,  there,  and  a  tinge  of  color  came  to  her  pale  face. 
The  next  moment  Leezibeth  announced  Sir  Peter  and 
Lady  Drum,  and  Lord  Earlshope ;  and  these  three  en- 
tered the  room. 

Sir  Peter  was  a  little,  stout,  rosy-cheeked,  and  fair- 
haired  man,  who  wore  a  suit  of  light  gray,  and  had  a  big 
diamond  ring  on  his  ringer.  There  was  a  pleasant  ex- 
pression in  his  face,  a  look  of  gayety  in  his  eyes,  and 
his  laugh,  which  was  heard  rather  too  often,  passed  be- 
yond all  the  bounds  of  decorum  in  its  long  shrill  peals. 
He  laughed  as  he  went  briskly  forward  to  shake  hands 
with  the  Minister ;  he  laughed  and  made  a  feeble  joke 
when  he  was  introduced  to  Coquette  ;  he  laughed  and 
made  another  feeble  joke  when  he  led  forward  his  wife  to 
young  girl. 

Coquette  found  herself  confronted  by  a  most  strik- 
ing-looking woman,  one  who  might  have  sat  for  a  picture 
of  a  grande  dame  of  the  last  generation.  Lady  Drum 
was  a  tail,  elderly,  upright  person,  with  a  massive  face, 
which  was  yet  kindly  in  the  severity  of  its  features,  and 
with  a  fine  head  of  gray  hair,  elaborately  arranged.  Lacly 
Drum  was  widely  known  in  the  neighborhood  for  her  in- 
flexible judgments  on  people's  conduct,  her  generous  but 
scrupulously  calculated  aid  to  all  who  were  in  need, 
and  Iier  skill  in  medicine,  which  she  loved  to  practice  ; 
3  ad  it  was  a  popular  mystery  how  this  stately  and  impos- 
•ig  lady  could  have  married  the  gay  little  gentleman  whc 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH.  95 

was  now  her  husband.  Yet  they  agreed  remarkably 
well,  and  seemed  to  have  a  mutual  esteem  for  each  other. 
She  bore  with  great  equanimity  his  perpetual  jokes,  his 
ceaseless  and  rambling  talk,  and  loud  laughter  ;  while  he 
was  fond  of  addressing  her  as  his  "  jewel,  "  declaring  that 
she  had  saved  his  life  twenty  times  with  her  physic.  Of 
all  the  people  in  the  country  the  Drums  were  the  only 
people  whom  Lord  Earlshope  was  ever  known  to  visit ; 
and  his  regard  and  liking  for  the  grave  and  noble-looking 
lady  of  Castle  Cawmil  had  even  led  him  to  permit  him- 
self to  be  dosed  and  doctored  upon  occasions.  Some- 
times they  corresponded  ;  and  the  contents  of  Lady 
Drum's  letters  chiefly  consisted  in  motherly  advice  about 
the  use  of  flannel  in  spring-time,  and  the  great  virtues  of 
some  new  herb  she  had  discovered.  As  for  Sir  Peter, 
Lord  Earlshope  seldom  saw  him  when  he  visited  Castle 
Cawmil.  Sir  Peter  was  anywhere,  everywhere,  but  in 
his  own  house.  He  flitted  about  the  country,  enjoying 
himself  wherever  he  went,  for  the  number  of  his  friends 
was  legion  ;  while  Lady  Drum  attended  to  her  poultry- 
yard  and  her  patients  at  home, 

Coquette  found  fixed  upon  her  a  pair  of  severe  and 
scrutinizing  eyes ;  but  there  was  something  in  the  appear- 
ance of  the  tall  grayhai  red  woman  which  she  could  not 
help  admiring  and  even  liking.  When  she  spoke,  which 
she  did  in  a  grave  and  deliberate  fashion,  with  a  consider- 
ably marked  Scotch  accent,  her  voice  had  all  the  soft- 
ness which  her  features  lacked. 

"  I  hope  you  will  find  Airlie  a  pleasant  place,  "  said 
Lady  Drum,  still  retaining  Coquette's  hand. 

''Dull— dull— dull,  "  said  Sir  Peter,  looking  out  of 
the  window  and  humming  to  himself.  "  Very  dull,  very 
dull— very  dull.  Ha,  ha  !  Hm,  hm  !  Ha,  ha !  " 

"And  we  shall  hope  to  see  you  often  at  Castle 
Cawmil,"  said  Lady  Drum. 

"  I  thank  you,  "  said  Coquette,  simply,  but  making 
no  promise. 

"  Pleasanter  for  you  than  for  her,  "  said  Sir  Peter, 
gayly,  "  My  dear  young  lady,  if  you  come  to  Castle 
Cawmil,  we  shall  all  be  very  grateful ;  but  you  mustn't 


9  6  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HE  TIL 

expect  to  have  much  amusement,  you  know.  Lectures 
on  typhus — lectures  on  typhus,  you  know  ;  pills,  draughts-, 
blisters,  hm,  hm  !  ha,  ha  !  ha,  ha  !  " 

Lady  Drum  paid  no  attention  to  the  small  playful- 
nesses of  her  husband,  but  turned  to  the  Minister. 

"Your  worthy  housekeeper  has  been  telling  me  that 
your  niece  is  very  much  in  want  of  a  change.  I  can 
see  it.  The  wet  weather  has' shut  her  up.  She  wants 
to  be  let  out  into  the  air,  with  companions  and  amuse- 
ment ;  and  I  would  even  recommend  a  little  tansy,  or, 
perhaps  gentian  root.  If  she  were  with  me  for  a  week 
or  two  I  might  try  the  Caribbean  cinchona,  which  has 
proved  an  excellent  tonic  within  my  own  experience ; 
but  as  for  horse-chestnut  bark,  which  some  prefer  to 
use,  I  do  not  hold  wi'  that  in  any  case.  Lord  Earls- 
hope  will  tell  ye,  Mr  Cassilis,  that  the  Caribbean  cin- 
chona  " 

"  Did  me  a  world  of  good,"  said  Lord  Earlshope. 
"  Indeed,  I  was  quite  ashamed  to  get  well  so  rapidly, 
and  deprive  my  amiable  physician  of  the  chance  of 
watching  the  effects  of  her  cure.  In  fact,  I  got  so  ridic- 
ulously well  that  I  had  no  occasion  to  drink  any  of  the 
coltsfoot  wine  that  Lady  Drum  was  good  enough  to 
send  me.  Shall  I  transfer  it  to  you,  Miss  Cassilis,  when 
you  become  one  of  Lady  Drum's  patients  ?  " 

'*  I  will  take  it,  if  it  is  nice,"  said  Coquette. 

Lady  Drum  did  not  like  this  way  of  treating  the 
subject,  especially  as  her  husband  was  moving  about  the 
room  from  place  to  place,  joking  about  everybody  all 
around  in  a  somewhat  impudent  way,  and  humming  a 
series  of  reflections  on  physic  generally,  which  inter- 
fered with  the  dignity  of  the  situation. 

"  Fine  thing,  physic,  grand  thing,  physic,  hm  !  hm  ! 
old  woman  -comes  and  gets  her  physic,  and  sixpence, 
ha,  ha !  drinks  the  sixpence  and  flings  away  the  physic, 
with  a  '  God  bless  all  doctors,  if  possible.'  Capital  gar- 
den that  of  yours,  Mr.  Cassilis,  capital!  too  much  like  a 
wilderness,  perhaps.  Got  the  old  ponies  in  the  stables 
yet,  old  Bess  with  the  swallow  tail  ?  Remember  how 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  BETH.  97 

the  Hielandman  thought  the  flicht  o'  a  swallow  was  like 
a  squint  him  ?  " 

"  What  is  that  ? "  said  Lord  Earlshope, 

"Untranslatable,  untranslatable,"  carolled  Sir  Peter 
"  '  Bekass  it  wass  a  crookit  flue.'  More  untranslatable 
still,  isn't  it  ?  We  must  be  going,  my  lady." 

But  my  lady- had  got  into  a  very  confidential  chat 
with  Coquette,  and  had  even  aired  a  few  French  phrases, 
to  show  that  she  had  been  used  to  polite  accomplish- 
ments in  her  youth.  She  had  been  to  Paris,  also  ;  had 
seen  the  Place  de  la  Bastille  ;  and  considered  herself 
profound  in  the  history  of  the  capital.  Their  talk, 
nevertheless,  was  chiefly  of  Airlie,  and  of  Coquette's  ex- 
periences there. 

"  I  did  like  the  place  better  when  I  came  here,"  said 
the  girl.  "  Much  better.  Yet,  it  is  pretty,  you  know, 
when  there  is  sun,  and  it  is  not  cold.  It  is  always  the 
same  thing  at  Airlie,  the  same  place,  the  same  people, 
the  same  things  to  do  each  day.  That  is  tiresome  when 
one  is  indoors  in  the  rain,  when  one  is  out  in  good  days 
there  is  variety.  If  you  will  let  me  visit  you,  I  shall  be 
joyous,  joyful — no,  I  mean  I  shall  be  glad  visitoty  uo 
and  see  you.  And  will  you  come  to  Airlie  often  ?  I 
have  no  lady  friend  in  this  country,  you  know,  only  my 
uncle  and  the  boys,  and  if  you  will  be  pleased  to  come 
and  see  me,  it  will  be  a  great  pleasure  to  me." 

"  But  I  am  an  old  woman,"  said  Lady  Drum.  "  I 
should  be  a  poor  companion  for  you. 

"  But  I  have  always  lived  with  old  people,"  said 
Coquette,  somewhat  too  bluntly.  "  I  do  like  old  people 
better  than  young." 

Lady  Drum  was  puzzled.  Why  did  this  young  crea- 
ture talk  so  sadly,  and  show  none  of  the  liveliness  and 
hope  natural  to  her  age  ?  Surely,  with  her  graceful 
and  well-formed  figure,  her  clear  dark  eyes,  and  the 
healthy  red  of  her  lips  that  were  obviously  meant  to 
laugh,  she  ought  to  have  plenty  of  spirit  and  life  ?  Lady 
Drum  had  never  seen  the  true  Coquette  ;  the  Coquette 
to  whom  every  day  was  a  holiday,  and  every  incident  in 
it  a  joyous  experience ;  but  she  half  divined  that  the 


98  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HE  TIT. 

pale,  pretty,  dark-eyed  girl  who  sat  beside  her,  and  who 
had  an  ease  of  manner  which  was  the  perfection  of  sim- 
plicity, was  not  strung  up  to  her  natural  pitch  of  health 
and  enjoyment.  Lady  Drum  had  never  heard  Coquette 
laugh  in  the  open  air,  or  sing  to  herself  in  the  garden  ; 
but  she  had  a  suspicion  that  the  beauty  of  the  girl's 
face  was  paler  than  it  ought  to  be. 

"  Quassia !  "  said  Lady  Drum,  suddenly,  and  Co- 
quette started  ;  but  presently  her  elderly  friend  said, 
"  No.  We  must  try  something  else  first.  Castle  Caw- 
mil  would  be  tiresome  just  now,  with  an  old  woman  like 
me  in  it.  By  and  by,  my  lassie,  you  must  come  and  see 
me  when  I  have  got  together  some  young  folks  ;  and 
we  shall  have  half  the  gentlemen  in  Ayrshire  fighting 
for  the  first  quadrille." 

"  Is  there  dancing  at  your  house  ? "  said  Coquette, 
with  interest. 

"  Dancing  !  Yes,  as  much  dancing  as  young  lassocks 
like  you  should  have,  who  will  not  be  persuaded  to  take 
any  other  sort  o'  exercise." 

"  I  was  told  it  was  evil  here,"  said  Coquette,  remem- 
bering certain  of  Leezibeth's  orations. 

"  Evil !  evU  !  "  said  Lady  Drum,  "  If  there  was 
much  of  evil  in  it,  it  wouldna  set  its  foot  within  my  doors. 
But  then,  ye  see,  Miss  Cassilis,  this  is  a  minister's  house 
and  a  minister  must  be  discreet,  no  to  give  offence,  as  it 
were,  Doubtless  your  uncle,  being  a  reasonable  man, 
knows  that  what  was  used  as  a  pairt  of  the  worship  of 
the  Lord  may  surely  be  used  without  harm  as  an  inno- 
cent and  usefu'  recreation  ;  but  he  has  to  mind  a  lot  o' 
strict  and  suspicious  bodies,  that  see  the  image  of  Satan 
himsel'  whene'er  they  look  beyond  the  rim  o'  their  own 
porridge-pot." 

"  Now,  my  lady,"  cried  St.  Peter,  "  sorry  to  interrupt 
your  chat  with  Mr.  Cassilis's  charming  niece  ;  but  I 
know  she  will  thank  me  for  getting  her  away  from  your 
tansy  and  coltsfoot  wine.  Come  along,  come  along, 
come  along,  ha,  ha  !  hm,  hm  !  ha,  ha  !  " 

"  Not  before  I  have  arranged  this  little  matter/'  said 
Lady  Drum,  with  dignity,  as  she  turned  to  Lord  Earls 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 


99 


hope,  who  had  been  conversing  with  the  Minister. 
"  Lord  Earlshope,  do  ye  mind  that  you  pressed  me  to 
make  use  o'  your  yacht  when  occasion  suited  ?  " 

"  Certainly  I  do,"  said  Lord  Earlshope.  "  She  is  quite 
at  your  service,  always :  and  just  at  present  she  is  in 
capital  cruising  order,  with  all  the  men  on  board.  Do 
you  propose  to  take  Miss  Cassilis  for  a  run  up  some  of 
the  lochs  ? " 

"  Indeed,  it  was  the  very  thing  I  was  thinking  of, ' 
said  Lady  Drum. 

"  Then  you  have  only  to  drive  to  Ardrossan  any  day 
you  choose,  and  give  Maxwell  his  sailing  orders.  He  is 
a  steady  old  fellow,  and  will  take  every  care  of  you." 

Coquette  listened  mutely,  with  her  eyes  fixed  on  the 
ground.  Lord  Earlshope  then  proposed  that  she  and 
Lady  Drum  should  go  by  themselves:  she  did  not  think 
it  very  civil. 

"  I  had  some  notion  of  asking  Mr.  Cassilis  to  form 
a  party  and  go  for  a  short  cruise,  hut  I  dismissed  it  as 
chimerical.  Perhaps  you  will  be  more  successful  if  you 
try." 

"  Now  tell  me,"  said  Lady  Drum,  with  a  business- 
like air,  "  how  many  you  can  take  on  board." 

"  Why,  half  the  population  of  Airlie,  or  thereabouts, 
But  there  is  one  very  grand  state-room,  which  you  ladies 
could  share  between  you  ;  and  as  for  your  gentlemen 
friends,  you  might  ask  as  many  as  had  been  accustomed 
to  the  exigencies  of  yachts,  myself  among  the  number,  I 
hope,  As  for  Sir  Peter " 

"  No,  no,  no  !  "  cried  Sir  Peter,  gaily.  "  No  yachting 
for  me,  sleeping  in  a  hole,  washing  out  of  a  tea-cup,  wet 
to  the  skin  all  day,  ha,  ha!  hm,  hm  !  ha,  ha!  No  yacht- 
ing for  me,  off  to  Peebles  on  Tuesday,  then  back  to  Ed- 
inburgh the  week  after  ;  my  lady  may  go  if  she  likes." 

"  Mr.  Cassilis,  may  we  reckon  on  you  ? "  said  Lady 
Drum,  severely  ignoring  her  husband's  volatility.  "Your 
niece  demands  some  change  of  the  kind ,  and  I  have 
entered  into  a  contract  long  ago  with  Lord  Earlshope 
about  the  yacht." 

"  You  need  not  be  frightened  by  what   Sir  Peter 


J00  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

says,"  observed  Lord  Earlshope,  with  a  laugh.  "  On 
board  a  sixty-ton  yacht  you  are  not  put  to  such  dreadful 
inconveniences,  indeed,  you  may  be  as  much  at  home  in 
the  '  Caroline '  as  in  a  steamer.  Shall  I  add  my  entreat- 
ies to  those  of  Lady  Drum  ?  If  you  could  get  away  from, 
your  duties  for  a  week  or  two,  it  would  be  a  pleasant 
holiday  at  this  season  ;  and,  if  you  like,  I  will  go  with 
you  for  a  day  or  two,  to  see  you  all  comfortably  settled." 

There  was  positively  a  blush  on  the  pale  gray  face 
of  the  Minister.  The  notion  of  taking  a  holiday  for  the 
mere  purpose  of  pleasure  was  quite  startling  to  him, 
had,  in  fact,  something  dangerous  about  it.  Had  the 
proposal,  indeed,  not  been  made  in  the  first  instance  by 
Lady  Drum,  whose  decision  as  to  matters  of  propriety 
was  law  throughout  the  district,  he  would  not  even  have 
considered  it  for  a  moment. 

"  I  cannot  give  an  answer  out  of  hand/  he  said, 
gravely,  and  yet  with  some  hesitation.  "  Doubtless  it 
is  a  tempting  and  a  kind  offer ;  but  there  are  other  obli- 
gations binding  on  us  than  our  own  wishes." 

"  Now  Mr.  Cassilis,"  said  Lady  Drum,  "have  you 
not  mentioned  to  me  that  you  greatly  desired  some  op- 
portunity should  occur  to  permit  you  to  give  young  Mr. 
M'Alister  your  pulpit  for  the  day,  an  honor  that  he  has 
fairly  set  his  heart  on  ?  " 

"  But  I  should  like  to  be  present  to  witness  his  trial," 
said  the  Minister,  fighting  against  himself. 

"  Ye  may  trust  him — ye  may  trust  him,"  said  Lady 
Drum,  decisively.     "  He  is  as  safe  as  an  old  horse  wi 
blinders  on.     No  fear  o'  him  alarmin'  the  congregation 
wi'  new  doctrine,  he  hasna  spunk  enough  to  be  danger- 
ous." 

This  somewhat  doubtful  testimony  to  the  intellectual 
"  safety  "  of  the  young  man  carried  some  weight,  evidently, 
and  Mr.  Cassilis  then  turned  to  his  niece. 

4<  Catherine,"  said  he,  solemnly,  "  you  have  heard  Lady 
Drum's  proposal,  would  it  please  you  to  go  ?  " 

"  Oh,  very  much,"  said  Coquette,  "  if — if  my  cousin 
could  also  go." 


A  DA  UGH  TER  OF  HE  777.  l  o  i 

The  Minister  stared  ;  how  had  the  Whaup  come  to 
be  of  such  consequence  ?       ;       . .    .  .   .  . 

"  Do  you  mean  my  friend  Tom  ?• *  said'  Lord  Claris- 
hope.  "  Why,  of  course  he  can  go.  There  is  nothing 
to  hinder  him." 

Coquette  was  very  grateful,  but  said  nothing.  There 
was  a  brighter  look  on  her  face,  however,  than  had  been 
there  for  many  a  day.  The  Minister  said  he  would  con- 
sider the  matter ;  and,  if  he  saw  that  his  duties  to  his 
parishioners  would  not  suffer,  he  hoped  to  be  able  to 
take  his  niece  on  this  voyage  of  health. 

When  the  visitors  had  gone,  Coquette  went  outside 
to  look  for  the  Whaup.  She  found  him  in  the  garden  ;  in- 
clined to  be  more  reserved  than  ever  on  account  of  this 
appearance  of  Lord  Earlshope  at  the  Manse. 

"  Tom,"  she  said,  "  I  do  wish  to  speak  to  you,  to  ask 
why  you  avoid  me,  when  you  were  my  good  companion 
for  a  long  time.  Why  should  we  quarrel  ?" 

"  Quarrel  ?  "  said  the  Whaup,  as  if  he  laughed  at  the 
idea  of  his  bothering  himself  to  quarrel  with  anybody, 
"  I  haven't  quarrelled  ;  I  haven't  time  to  quarrel.  But  I 
suppose  you  are  come  to  be  penitent  and  all  that ;  and 
probably  you  will  cry.  I  don't  like  to  see  you  cry,  so  I'll 
make  friends  at  once,  if  you  like." 

"  Is  that  how  you  do  make  friends  in  Scotland  ? " 
said  Coquette,  with  a  laugh  in  her  eyes,  "standing  a 
yard  off,  looking  fierce,  and  speaking  harsh." 

"  Oh,  I  will  kiss  you,  if  you  like."  said  the  Whaup, 
bluntly,  and  he  advanced  for  that  purpose. 

"  No,"  said  Coquette,  with  the  least  change  of  man- 
ner ;  and  yet  that  delicate  alteration  in  her  tone  and 
look  protected  her  as  though  with  a  wa-ll  of  iron.  "  I 
did  not  ask  you.  But  I  have  something  to  ask  of  very 
much  importance,  oh  !  such  great  importance  !  And  I 
wish  you  to  be  kind  as  you  once  were,  but  I  am  afraid 
on  this  day.  It  is  too  cold,  too  dull.  On  a  clear  day  you 
would  say,  yes." 

"Don't  talk  so  much,  but  tell  me  what  it  is,"  said  the 
Whaup.  He  was  warding  off,  rudely,  the  insidious 
attacks  of  his  too  pretty  cousin. 


/02  A  DAUGHTER  OF  IIETH, 

"  It  is  proposed  we  all  go  with  Lord  Earlshope's 
yacht  or,  a  loh'g  vpyagc  around  the  Islands,  your  papa 
and  Lady  Drum,  and  me,  too;  and  it  depends  if  you  will 
go  that  I  will  go." 

"  I  go  !  "  said  the  Whaup,  with  a  burst  of  laughter. 
"  In  Lord  Earlshope's  yacht !  You  must  be  mad  !  " 

"  If  you  do  not  go,  I  will  not  go,"  said  Coquette, 
simply. 

"Perhaps  it  is  better  you  shouldn't  go,"  said  the 
Whaup. 

"  Perhaps  it  is,"  said  Coquette,  turning  away  towards 
the  house. 

The  Whaup  looked  after  her  for  a  moment,  then  he 
followed  her. 

"  Look  here,  what  do  you  want  to  go  for  ?  "  he  asked. 

4<I  thought  it  would  be  pleasurable,  the  amusement, 
the  going  away  from  this  place  a  few  days,  the  whole  of  us 
together.  But  I  am  not  anxious,  I  can  stay  at  home." 

"  Why  can't  you  go  with  outme  "  said  he. 

"  I  wanted  you  for  a  companion,"  said  Coquette,  look- 
ing down.  "  There  will  be  nobody  but  your  papa  and 
Lady  Drum,  Lord  Earlshope  only  comes  for  a  day  or 
two,  to  see  us  off." 

He  looked  at  her  downcast  face  in  a  scrutinizing 
way ;  he  was  not  sure  about  her. 

"  You  know,  I  don't  believe  in  you  as  I  did  at  one 
time.  People  who  deceive  you  once  will  deceive  you 
again,"  he  said. 

She  looked  up  with  an  angry  glance,  and  bitter  tears 
sprang  to  her  eyes. 

"  How  can  you  say  that  ? "  she  said,  indignantly. 
"  You  are  too  hard,  you  have  no  mercy,  you  expect  every 
one  to  be  as  rude  as  yourself.  If  you  do  not  believe  me, 
it  is  no  matter  to  me  ;  I  can  believe  myself,  that  is 
enough." 

With  these  words,  she  was  again  turning  proudly 
away,  when  he  caught  her  by  the  hand,  and  stopped 
her. 

"  You  are  a  very  peculiar  young  woman,"  he  said, 
"  You  are  always  firing  off  somehow  or  other,  always 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HE  Tit.  IO3 

very  delighted  or  else  very  miserable.  Why  don't  you 
take  things  coolly,  as  I  do  ?  I  don't  say  you're  very  bad 
because  you  went  in  for  little  trifling  useless  bits  of 
deceit.  I  suppose  every  woman  does  that,  it's  their 
nature,  and  it's  no  use  grumbling.  If  you  had  any  sense, 
you'd  dry  your  eyes,  get  something  on  your  head,  and 
come  and  see  us  dig  up  a  bee's  nest  that  I  have  found." 

"Yes,  I  will  do  that,"  she  said;  adding,  timidly, 
"  and  about  the  yacht,  I  am  not  to  go  ?  " 

He  looked  in  her  eyes  just  then,  and,  oddly  enough, 
that  glance  somehow  made  him  aware  that  he  was  hold- 
ing her  hand,  a  little  white  hand,  that  had  a  couple  of 
tiny  rings  on  one  of  the  fingers.  He  dropped  the  hand 
at  once,  was  uncomfortable  and  shy  for  a  moment,  and 
then  said,  desperately*  "  Yes,  I  will  go." 

There  was  a  flush  of  color  and  gladness  passed  over 
the  pale  face,  and  she  lifted  his  hand  suddenly  and 
pressed  it  to  her  lips.  Then  she  ran  into  the  house, 
and  presently  reappeared  with  her  hat  and  some  loose 
white  thing  that  she  hurriedly  flung  around  her  neck. 
Her  eyes  were  so  bright  and  joyous  that  the  Whaup 
looked  at  her  with  amazement. 

In  a  secret  corner  the  Whaup  found  his  brothers, 
armed  with  large  boughs.  All  set  out  for  the  moor 
where  the  bees'  nest  had  been  discovered  ;  and  the 
Whaup  revealed  to  Coquette  that  his  object  in  storming 
the  nest  was  not  merely  to  secure  the  little  underground 
nuts  of  honey.  A  deed  of  vengeance  had  to  be  accom- 
plished, and  the  captured  bees  were  to  aid  in  the  task. 

Now  Sir  Peter  and  Lady  Drum  had  driven  back  to 
Earlshope  for  luncheon,  and  were  returning  along  the 
moorland  road,  their  host  accompanying  them.  On  their 
way  they  saw  in  the  distance  a  small  procession  of 
figures  on  the  moor,  carrying  branches  of  trees. 

"  Why,  yonder  is  Coquette  running  and  laughing," 
said  Lord  Earlshope. 

"  Running  and  laughing  ? "  said  Lady  Drum.  "  Has 
that  dark-eyed  little  witch  been  cheating  me  ?  " 


I04  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

A    DANGEROUS    ADVENTURE. 

"  WHAT  is  the  matter  with  you  ? "  said  the  Whaup 
to  Coquette.  "  For  a  few  minutes  you  are  alive,  and  in 
the  world  ;  and  the  next  minute  you  are  looking  away 
over  there  at  the  sea,  as  if  you  could  look  through  the 
Arran  hills,  and  see  something  miles  and  miles  away 
on  the  other  side." 

Coquette  started,  and  recalled  herself;  but  there 
was  no  tinge  of  embarrassment  on  the  pale,  clear,  foreign- 
looking  face.  She  said, — 

"  I  was  thinking  whether  your  papa  would  let  us  all 
go  with  Lady  Drum." 

"Then  he  has  not  promised  to  go  ?"  said  the  Whaup, 
sharply. 

The  dark  eyes  of  Coquette  began  to  look  afraid. 

"  It  is  a  strange  thing,"  said  the  Whaup,  "  that  wo- 
men will  not  tell  you  all  the  truth  at  once.  They  must 
keep  back  things,  and  make  mysteries,  and  try  to  de- 
ceive you.  Why  didn't  you  say  to  me,  'There  is  a 
talk  of  our  going  a  trip  in  Earlshope's  yacht.  Will  you 
come,  if  \ve  are  all  allowed  to  go  ? '  instead  of  hinting 
that  you  were  all  fixed  on  going,  and  I  might  as  well 
join  you  ?  Well,  there,  I  am  not  going  to  say  another 
word.  You  can't  help  it.  You  are  only  a  woman.'* 

"  And  you  are  only  a  boy,"  she  said,  looking  up  to 
the  tall,  handsome  lad  beside  her,  "  very  kind,  and  very 
generous,  and  very  stupid." 

"  I  am  older  than  you,  at  least,"  said  the  Whaup, 
who  did  not  like  to  be  called  a  boy.  "  And,  if  it  was 
any  use,  I'd  give  you  the  advice  to  drop  these  little 
tricks,  and  be  honest  with  one." 

"If  my  honesty  were  equal  with  your  rudeness,  I 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH  IO5 

should  please  you,"  said  Coquette,  witli  a  smile.  She 
was  disinclined  just  then  to  take  umbrage. 

"It  will  be  a  bold  thing  for  my  father  to  go  away 
anywhere  in  the  company  of  Lord  Earlshope,"  observed 
the  Whaup.  "It  will  be  only  his  regard  for  your 
health  which  will  force  him." 

"  Why  ?  "  said  Coquette,  with  a  touch  of  asperity. 

"  Well,  you  know  the  reputation  he  has  in  the  parish," 
remarked  the  Whaup  coolly.  "  Perhaps  everybody  is 
wrong ;  but,  at  all  events,  Earlshope  gives  them  every 
reason  to  think  ill  of  him.  He  never  comes  to  church  ; 
he  walks  about  on  Sundays  with  his  dogs ;  or  else  he 
reads  novels  and  smokes  cigars.  If  I  go  with  you,  it  is 
not  to  be  friends  with  him  ;  it  is  to  protect  you.  Do  you 
know,  either  he  is  mad  or  one  of  these  novels  has  taken 
his  head  ;  for  he  has  got  a  place  built  at  the  end  of  the 
grounds  like  a  wizard's  cave,  with  trickling  water  run- 
ning over  a  lot  of  rocks,  and  he  sits  there  at  night  to 
read,  and  in  the  rocks  he  has  blue  lights,  that  make  the 
place  look  as  if  it  was  haunted." 

"  That  is  stuff  and  humbug,"  said  Coquette. 

"  What  did  you  say  ?  " 

"  I  do  mean  it  is  nonsense,  if  that  is  better.  It  is  an 
old  woman's  story  of  the  village,  it  is  a  fable,  it  is  fool- 
ish." 

"  Very  well,  very  well,"  said  the  Whaup.  "  But  if 
you  have  the  courage  to  slip  out  of  the  house  to-night 
when  it  is  dark,  and  run  all  the  way  there,  I  will  take 
you  in  by  a  way  that  I  know,  and  show  you  the  place." 

"  Suppose  he  were  there  ?  "  said  Coquette. 

"  No  fear.  The  nights  are  getting  too  cold.  Will 
you  go  ? " 

"  Perhaps,"  said  Coquette* 

By  this  time  they  had  arrived  at  the  spot  on  the  moor- 
where  the  Whaup  had  discovered  the  bees'  nest.  He 
pointed  out  to  his  companion  a  small  hole  in  a  piece  of 
mossy  ground  which  was  uncovered  by  the  heather;  and 
as  she  looked  at  it,  a  large  bumblebee  came  crawling  out, 
paused  for  a  second,  and  then  flew  away  with  a  lew  buz- 


jo6  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

zing  noise  into  the  distance.     The  Whaup  threw  off  his 
jacket,  and  took  his  spade  in  hand. 

"  Here,"  said  he  to  Coquette,  "protect  yourself  w  h 
this  branch.  Knock  them  down  when  they  come  near 
you." 

"  Why  ?  "  she  said.  "  They  will  not  harm  me,  I  am 
not  harming  them," 

"  That  may  be  the  case  wi'  bees  in  France,"  ouserved 
the  Whaup,  with  a  sneer,  "  where  they've  better  man- 
ners ;  but  ye'll  find  Scotch  bees  have  different  habits." 

So  he  ordered  one  of  the  boys  to  stand  by  Coquette 
and  beat  down  any  bees  that  might  come  her  way  ; 
threatening  him  with  pains  and  penalties  dire  if  one 
should  touch  her.  Then  he  struck  the  spade  into  the 
ground  near  the  entrance  to  the  nest,  and  raised  a  large 
"  divot."  The  channel  to  the  subterranean  caves  was 
now  laid  bare,  antl  one  or  two  bees  that  had  been  coming 
ap  were  seen  extricating  themselves  from  the  loose  earth. 
These  Dougal  laid  straightway  hold  of,  by  means  of  his 
handkerchief,  and  popped  them  into  a  large  paper  bag 
which  he  held. 

"  What  for  you  put  them  in  a  bag  ?  "  said  Coquette  ; 
at  which  all  the  boys  burst  out  laughing.  But  they  did 
not  tell  her  the  secret. 

The  excitement  of  this  work  of  destruction  now  be- 
gan. Out  came  the  bees  in  dozens,  buzzing  up  from  the 
ruddy  earth  only  to  be  struck  down  by  great  branches  of 
alder  borne  by  the  boys  ;  while  the  intrepid  Dougal,  with 
his  face  and  hands  quite  unguarded,  stood  over  the  hole, 
and  picked  up  whichever  of  them  looked  only  stunned. 
It  was  a  dangerous  occupation  ;  for  those  inside  the  bag, 
which  had  partially  recovered,  began  to  hum  their  dis- 
content, and  tried  to  escape  by  the  small  opening  which 
admitted  their  companions  in  misfortune.  Sometimes, 
indeed,  the  other  boys  assisted,  although  it  was  no  easy 
matter  to  beat  back  the  winged  host  that  flew  round  and 
round  their  ears. 

Suddenly  Wattie  uttered  a  loud  shriek,  and  set  off 
running  as  hard  as  he  could.  His  companions  perceived 
to  their  dismay  that  about  twenty  or  thirty  bees  had 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETfl. 


107 


clustered  around  his  head,  and  were  now  following  him, 
and  hovering  over  him  as  he  ran. 

"  He's  got  the  queen  bee  on  his  bonnet,"  said  the 
Whaup.  "  Throw  down  your  bonnet — ye  idiot !  throw 
down  your  bonnet !  " 

Wattie  was  still  within  hearing,  and  had  sufficient 
nerve  left  him  to  do  as  he  was  bid.  He  snatched  at  his 
cap,  pitched  it  on  the  heather,  and  again  made  off ;  but 
it  was  soon  apparent  that  he  was  out  of  danger.  The 
bees  had  lit  upon  the  cap,  and  from  a  safe  distance  he 
stood  and  regarded  it  with  rather  a  rueful  countenance. 

The  issue  of  bees  had  ceased.  The  boys  laid  down 
their  branches,  and  began  to  dig  out  with  their  fingers, 
from  among  the  red  and  sandy  earth,  the  small  brown 
combs  of  honey,  which  were  speedily  transferred,  sand 
and  all,  to  their  mouths.  The  Whaup,  of  course,  would 
not  condescend  to  such  vulgar  and  childish  practices ; 
but  he  produced  a  penknife,  and  extracted  some  honey 
from  one  of  the  combs,  which  Coquette  was  pleased  to 
taste. 

"  What  for  you  have  bees  in  the  bag  ?  "  said  Co- 
quette, as  they  prepared  to  go  home — a  simultaneous 
charge  of  branches  having  cleared  Wattie's  cap. 

"  I  told  you,"  said  the  Whaup,  "  there  was  a  deed 
of  vengeance  to  be  done.  In  the  stable  there  is  a  bag 
of  corn,  which  Andrew  opens  twice  a  day  to  get  some 
for  the  pony.  We  are  going  to  put  the  bees  in  the  bag 
I  suppose  there's  near  a  hundred  of  them.  When 
Andrew  plunges  his  hand  into  the  bag " 

"  Oh  you  wicked  boy  !  "  cried  Coquette. 

"  You  are  the  cause  of  it,"  said  the   Whaup. 

"  I  ? " 

"  I  heard  him  calling  ye  all  sorts  o'  name  out  of  the 
Bible,  Satan  quoting  Scripture,  ye  know,  and  I  have 
warned  him  before ;  and  now  he'll  get  it." 

"  The  bees,  they  will  kill  him,"  said  Coquette. 

"  So  much  the  better,"  retorted  the  Whaup ;  "  he 
is  a  nuisance." 

"  But  what  is  that  on  your  hand ,  that  is  a  sting,  is 
i 


IOS  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

it  not  ? "  she  said,  looking  at  a  considerable    swelling 
which  was  visible  on  the  Whaup' s  forefinger. 

"  Oh,  one  is  nothing,"  he  said,  carelessly,  sting. 
"  unless  it's  a  wasp  or  a  hornet.  Did  you  ever  burn  out 
a  nest  of  hornets  ?  If  you  haven't,  don't  try  it." 

"  No,"  said  Coquette,  simply,  "  I'  m  not  such  a 
gowk." 

"  Well,  that  K  pretty  English !  "  observed  the  Whaup, 
with  a  stare. 

"  Isn't  it  right  ?  I  did  hear  you  say  it  yesterday," 
remarked  Coquette,  without  any  notion  that  she  was 
turning  the  tables  on  her  critic. 

So  they  drew  near  home  again,  and  the  Whaup  fan- 
cied a  shade  came  over  his  companion's  face  as  they  ap- 
proached the  Manse.  Perhaps  it  was  the  dull,  gray  day 
which  made  the  old-fashioned  little  place  look  dull  and 
solitary,  that  made  the  moor  look  unusually  bleak,  and 
the  long  stretch  of  country  sombre  and  sad. 

"  I  hope  you  are  not  tired,'1  said  the  Whaup. 

"  Tired  ?  No,"  she  said,  somewhat  languidly.  "Do 
you  think  your  papa  will  take  us  away  from  here  for  a 
little  while?" 

"  How  you  harp  on  that  yacht?"  said  the  Whaup, 
good-naturedly.  "  I  must  go  and  persuade  my  father 
on  your  behalf,  I  think." 

"  Will  you  do  that  ? "  she  said,  eagerly, 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  and  just  now.  Isn't  he  there  in 
the  garden  ?  I  hear  him  talking.  Oh,  it  is  the  School- 
master, who  is  delivering  a  lecture.  Now,  I  will  wager 
he  is  talking  about  you." 

"  About  me  ?  " 

"  Yes  !  Don't  you  know  you  are  a  dangerous 
character  to  the  whole  village  ? " 

"  I  should  like  to  know  what  he  says  about  me," 
said  Coquette,  proudly,  advancing  towards  the  wall  which 
surrounded  the  garden. 

"  But  not  that  way,"  said  the  Whaup,  taking  her 
hand  and  leading  her  off.  "  If  you  wish  to  know,  you 
mustn't  hide  and  listen,  although  I  suppose  that  is  a 
woman's  way.  You  go  into  the  Manse ;  I  will  go  into 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 


109 


the  garden,  and  bring  you  word  what  the  new  ground 
of  complaint  is." 

Leaving  Coquette,  therefore,  the  Whaup  went  around 
the  house,  and  boldly  walked  up  to  the  place  where 
Mr.  Gillespie  and  the  Minister  stood  together. 

"  It  is  Earlshope  who  is  catching  it  this  time,"  said 
the  Whaup  to  himself,  overhearing  the  name. 

His  father  looked  with  some  surprise  on  the  ap- 
proach of  his  eldest  son,  who  had  rather  a  pugnacious 
look  on  his  face,  by  the  way,  but  the  Schoolmaster  was 
too  intent  upon  his  choice  phrases  to  heed. 
..."  than  which,  sir,  nothing  could  be  more  deplorable, 
or  mortifying,  as  I  may  say,"  observed  Mr,  Gillespie. 
"  But  I  would  give  every  man  the  due  of  his  actions  ; 
for,  although  works  are  not  in  themselves  saving,  they 
may  be  a  sign,  or,  as  some  would  term  it,  a  symptom, 
of  the  presence  o'  grace,  even  among  the  Gentiles  who 
know  not  the  law,  yet  do  the  things  that  are  written  or 
inscribed  in  the  law." 

"  Yes,  yes,  Mr,  Gillespie  !  "  said  the  Minister,  with 
an  impatient  twitch  at  his  bunch  of  seals  ;  "  but  ye  said 
ye  had  come  to  tell  me " 

"  Yes,  sir,  to  inform  ye  of  a  circumstance  which 
deserves,  or  is  entitled  to,  some  remark.  I  have  been 
made  the  means,  or,  I  may  say,  the  humble  instrument, 
of  conveying  to  the  people  of  this  parish  no  less  a  sum 
than  one  hundred  pounds  sterling,  to  be  expended,  sir,  as 
those  who  have  authority  among  us  may  direct,  for  the 
good,  or  benefit,  of  such  as  are — such  as  are — such  as  are, 
in  fact,  here.  Ware  it,  or,  as  I  ought  to  say,  expend  it,  as 
we  best  may  on  the  educational  or  worldly  wants  of  the 
parish,  it  is  all  the  same  ;  and  while  I  would  observe, 
sir,  that  the  money  cannot  heighten  in  value  the  ser- 
vices which  you  give,  or  rather  render  to  this  parish,  it 
being  your  duty,  as  I  may  express  it,  to  expou-nd  the 
prophecies  and  dig  up  spiritual  gold  and  silver  for  them 
that  are  of  Zion,  I  would  take  your  advice  wi'  all  humil- 
ity as  to  how  this  sum  is  to  be  granted  to,  or  bestowed 
upon,  the  parish." 

Mr.  Gillespie  paused,  with  the  air  cf  a  man  who  had 


1IO  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

been  up  to  the  occasion.  He  raised  his  large  spectacles 
towards  the  Minister's  face,  and  proudly  awaited  the 
reply. 

"  Where  got  ye  this  money  ? "  said  the  Minister. 

"  Sir,  from  Lord  Earlshope,  some  three  days  ago, 
with  a  letter  dated  some  place  in  the  north,  in  which  his 
Lordship  was  pleased  to  say  that  it  was  but  a  whim  of  his. 
A  noble  and  a  praiseworthy  whim,  said  I  to  Mrs.  Gilles- 
pie,  on  receiving  the  money  ;  and  as  I  am  one,  Mr.  Cassilis 
that  would  argue  from  facts  rather  than  from  idle  hear- 
say or,  as  I  might  call  it  rumor,  I  am  bold  to  observe 
that  there  are  in  this  very  parish  those  who  would  look 
back  at  his  Lordship,  and  yet  no  bestow  a  bawbee  on 
the  education  o'  the  poor.  I  wouldna,  sir,  cast,  or,  in 
other  words,  fling,  the  first  stone  ;  and  if  some  would  do 
as  they  see  Lord  Earlshope  do,  I  am  thinking,  sir,  they 
would  not — they  would  not  do — as — as,  in  fact,  they  do 
do." 

Feeling  that  his  eloquence  was  beginning  to  halt,  the 
Schoolmaster  pulled  out  the  identical  letter  and  check 
which  had  effected  so  extraordinary  a  change  in  his  sen 
timents  towards  the  owner  cf  Earlshope.  These  he 
handed  to  Mr.  Cassilis,  who  took  them  and  scanned 
them  with  equal  surprise  and  pleasure.  The  Minister 
even  hinted  that  since  his  Lordship  was  so  well-disposed 
to  the  parish,  and  apparently  inclined  to  make  up  for 
past  forgetfulness,  it  would  be  unbecoming  of  the  parish 
not  to  meet  his  advances  in  a  similar  friendly  spirit. 

"  Precisely  and  exactly  as  I  observed  to  Mrs.  Gilles- 
pie  this  morning,  sir,  not  ten  minutes,  nay,  when  I  recol- 
lect, not  above  five  minutes,  indeed,  I  am  sure  three 
minutes  could  not  have  elapsed,  after  the  reading  of  the 
letter,  or  communication  I  might  call  it,  seeing  what  it 
holds.  And  Mrs.  Gillespie,  sir,  made  an  observation, 
couched  in  homely  phrase,  yet  pertaining,  or,  as  I  might 
say,  bearing  upon  this  point.  She  remarked  that  the 
test  of  a  man's  fair  words  was  when  he  put  his  hand  in 
his  pocket." 

"  It  is  sometimes  so,"  said  the  Minister  ;  adding,  with 
a  sly  glance  at  the  Schoolmaster,  "perhaps,  after  all  Mr. 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HE  TIL  TIT 

Gillespie,  when  my  parishioners  hear  of  Lord  Earlshope's 
generosity,  they  will  not  wonder  at  my  receiving  him  at 
the  Manse,  nor  yet  will  they  object  to  his  speaking  to 
my  niece." 

The  Schoolmaster  looked  rather  uncomfortable  ;  and 
the  Whaup,  behind  his  back,  performed  some  derisive 
and  delighted  antics  of  a  vulgar  nature. 

"  I  maun  e'en  take  a  man  as  I  find  him,  Mr.  Cassi- 
lis/'  said  the  Schoolmaster,  forgetting  his  English  in  the 
warmth  of  his  self-defence.  "  If  he  alters  for  the  better, 
what  for  should  I  stick  to  my  old  opeenion,  like  a  flea  to 
the  wa'?" 

"  Certainly,  certainly,"  said  the  Minister  ;  "  but 
sometimes  it  is  our  judgment  that  is  mistaken  in  the 
first  case,  and  it  behooves  us  to  be  cautious  and  charit- 
able." 

"  No  man  ever  accused  me  o'  being  without  charity, 
in  moderation — in  moderation,"  said  the  Schoolmaster, 
with  his  spectacles  glaring  fiercely.  "  But  I  am  no  for 
that  charity  that  lets  ye  be  led  by  the  nose.  I  have  my 
opeenions,  charity  is  a  good  thing,  a  very  good  thing,  but 
it  needna  make  a  fool  o'  ye,  and  make  people  believe  that 
ye  are  as  blind  as  Eli.  No,  sir,  wi'  due  deference  to  you, 
I  still  consider  Lord  Earlshope  to  be — 

In  his  excitement  the  Schoolmaster  had  unconsciously 
unfolded  the  check  he  held  in  his  hands,  and  he  now 
suddenly  found  himself  looking  at  it.  He  did  not  finish 
the  sentence.  He  waved  his  hand,  as  though  to  say, 
"  These  are  bygones  ;  I  was  right,  but  it  is  no  matter  ; 
and  Lord  Earlshope  has  mended." 

"  And  what  do  ye  propose  to  do  with  the  money  ? 
not  that  there  will  be  any  difficulty  in  finding  suitable 
directions,"  said  the  Minister. 

"  That,"  replied  the  Schoolmaster,  with  grave  im- 
portance, "  is  a  matter  for  serious,  and,  I  may  add, 
patient,  consideration,  in  which,  sir,  I  would  earnestly 
desire  your  assistance  and  advice.  In  the  meantime,  it 
is  but  fitting  (such  is  my  humble  opeenion)  that  ac- 
knowledgment of  his  Lordship's  bounty  should  be  made 
and  that  not  in  a  formal  manner,  but  in  a  friendlv,  a  con- 


H2  A  DA  UGHTER  OF  HE  TIf. 

ciliatory  manner,  as  I  may  say,  in  which  I  will  show  his 
Lordship  that  we  of  this  parish  recognize,  appreciate,  and 
commend  these  approaches,  or  overtures  they  might,  I 
think,  be  properly  called,  on  his  part  ;  and  who  knows, 
sir,  but  that  encouragement  of  this  kind  might  have  the 
effect  of  stimulating  or  exciting  his  Lordship  to  renew, 
I  may  say,  in  short,  to  repeat,  these  attentions  of  a  gen- 
erous nature " 

Mr.  Gillespie  stopped  here,  not  sure  whether  he 
had  got  to  the  end  of  his  sentence  or  not.  He  then  con- 
tinued,— 

"  I  hope,  sir,  in  your  capacity  of  private  friend  of  this 
young  gentleman,  and  public  and  spiritual  overseer  of 
this  parish,  you  will  convey  to  him  our  sense  of  what  he 
has  done;  and  if  you  could  bring  him  and  the  parish 
closer  together " 

l<  At  this  present  moment,  on  the  contrary,"  said  the 
Minister,  with  a  hesitating  smile,  "  Lord  Earlshope  pro- 
poses to  carry  me  away  from  the  parish.  I  have  received 
an  invite,  with  some  members  of  my  household,  to  goon 
a  small  voyage  in  his  Lordship's  yacht,  Lady  Drum  be- 
ing the  instigator  of  the  project,  as  I  believe." 

The  spectacles  of  the  Schoolmaster  seemed  to  wax 
bigger. 

"  How  do  you  think  the  parish  would  receive  the 
proposal  ?  "  asked  the  Minister,  rather  timidly. 

"  I  will  make  it  my  business  to  ascertain,"  replied  the 
Schoolmaster,  with  an  air  of  authority.  "  Nay,  further, 
Mr.  Cassilis,  I  will  even  go  the  length  of  advising  your 
parishioners  to  acquiesce.  Why,  sir,  it  is  their  duty. 
Lord  Earlshope,  Mr.  Cassilis,  is  a  man  to  be  encouraged, 
he  must  be  encouraged." 

This  was  all  that  was  wanted  to  confirm  the  Minister's 
decision.  He  had  for  some  time  back  seen  fit  to  abandon 
the  suspicions  that  had  been  suggested  by  his  meeting 
Lord  Earlshope  and  Coquette  on  the  moor ;  and  the 
only  question  now  was  whether  Coquette's  health 
would  be  greatly  benefited  by  his  accepting  the  invita- 
tion. 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HRTH. 


The  Whaup  made  off  at  this  moment,  and  went  to 
Coquette. 

"  You  owe  Gillespie  a  good  turn  for  once,"  said  he 
to  her.  "The  old  fool  has  persuaded  my  father  to  go." 


CHAPTER  XVI 

COQUETTE  LEAVES    AIRLTE 

How  brightly  shone  the  sun  on  the  welcome  morn- 
ing of  their  departure  !  when  Coquette,  as  she  looked  out 
to  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  fair  blue  sea  and  the  sunny 
hills  of  Arran,  could  scarce  take  time  to  curb  the  wild- 
ness  of  her  dark  hair.  Already  the  open  window  let  her 
drink  in  the  fresh  morning  air,  and  she  felt  the  warmth 
of  the  sun  on  her  cheek.  Generally,  at  her  toilette,  she 
sang,  or  rather  hummed  to  herself,  snatches  of  French 
songs,  or  even,  I  regret  to  say,  endeavored  to  imitate 
the  Whaup's  whistling  of  a  Highland  reel ;  but  on  this 
morning  she  was  far  too  excited  for  any  such  amuse- 
ments. The  face  that  had  been  getting  tired  and  wan 
of  late  was  now  flushed  with  happiness ;  and  when  at 
last  she  came  running  downstairs,  and  out  into  the 
garden,  her  white  dress  fluttering  in  the  sun,  and  her 
hair  getting  rather  the  better  of  the  dark  blue  band  in- 
terwoven with  it,  she  fairly  overwhelmed  the  boys  with 
her  demonstrations  of  affection  and  kindness. 

The  Whaup's  brothers  were  practical  young  persons, 
and,  though  they  still  regarded  this  foreigner  and 
Catholic  as  a  dangerous  companion,  as  somebody  who 
had  to  be  approached  with  caution,  they  had  discovered, 
at  an  early  period,  that  certain  gold  coins  of  French 
origin  could  be  transformed  at  Ardrossan  into  an  honest 
and  respectable  mintage.  The  amount  of  pocket-money 
which  the  reckless  young  woman  lavished  upon  her 
eousins  (excepting  the  W-haup,  of  course)  was  appalling  ; 


i !  4  A  DA  LIGHTER  OF  HE  TH. 

nor  could  the  observant  Leezibeth  make  out  whence 
came  all  the  new  pocket-knives,  tools,  and  similar  boyish 
luxuries  which  she  discovered  about  the  house.  The 
boys  themselves  had  an  uneasy  impression  that  there 
was  something  desperately  wicked  in  having  so  much 
money ;  and,  indeed,  had  many  private  conversations 
among  themselves  about  the  specious  arguments  with 
which  they  might  cheat  the  devil  if  he  happened  to  put 
in  a  claim  for  them  on  account  of  extravagance. 

"  You  must  all  be  very  good  till  I  come  back,"  she 
said,  now,  "  for  I  am  going  to  bring  you  all  presents.  I 
will  buy  you,  what  shall  I  buy  you  ? " 

The  boys  begin  to  laugh,  but  rather  in  a  disap- 
pointed way. 

"  There  is  but  wan  thing  ye'll  get  to  buy  in  the  Hie- 
lands,"  said  Dougal,  "  and  that's  a  herrin'." 

"  And  too  good  for  you,"  said  the  Whaup  coming  up, 
"  you  greedy  young  pigs.  If  I  hear  you  bargaining  about 
presents  any  more  I'll  present  ye  with  a  bottle  o'  hazel 
oil,  if  ye  ken  what  that  is.  Come  along,  Miss  Coquette, 
and  get  your  breakfast,  and  then  show  me  what  luggage 
you  have.  I  dare  say  it's  twice  as  big  as  I  can  allow." 

"  You  allow  ?     Are  you  the  master  of  the  luggage  ?  " 

"I  am,  as  you'll  find  out,"  said  he.  "  I  have  just 
taken  half  the  pile  of  things  that  Leezibeth  had  packed 
up  for  my  father,  and  shunted  them  into  a  drawer.  We 
don't  mean  to  go  to  the  Sandwich  Islands." 

"  Do  we  go  to  the  Sandwich  Islands  ?  "  said  Coquette, 
simply. 

"  I  said  we  don't  mean  to  go  there,"  repeated  the 
Whaup,  with  asperity  ;  but  I  suppose  you  don't  know 
where  that  is,  the  French  are  so  precious  ignorant." 

"  Worse  luck/'  said  Coquette,  with  an  expression  of 
sincere  penitence  which  made  the  Whaup  burst  out 
laughing. 

At  length,  some  two  hours  afterwards,  Coquette  found 
herself  seated  in  the  little  dog-cart  which  had  brought 
her  to  Airlie.  A  sou  :  man  was  Andrew  Bogue  that  day  ; 
and  sourer  was  he  now.  Nor  word  nor  syllable  would 
he  utter ;  and  the  more  vivacious  and  talkative  Coquette 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETtf.  115 

became,  speaking  to  her  uncle,  who  sat  behind,  the 
Whaup  having  been  sent  off  on  foot,  the  deeper  and 
sterner  became  the  gloom  of  his  face.  Perhaps  he 
was  none  the  less  disposed  to  predict  evil  of  this 
appalling  departure  from  the  sober  and  respectable  rou- 
tine of  the  Manse,  because  of  a  severe  encounter  he  had 
had  with  Leezibeth  that  morning.  He  saw  that  Leezi- 
beth  had  now  wholly  gone  over  to  the  enemy. 

When  they  reached  the  harbor,  and  saw  the  shapely 
vessel  lying  out  at  anchor,  with  her  sails  shining  in  the 
sunlight,  they  perceived  that  both  the  Whaup  and  Lady 
Drum  had  gone  on  board.  Presently  the  pinnace  was 
put  off  from  the  yacht,  and  in  a  few  minutes  Coquette 
and  her  uncle  were  being  pulled  out  by  the  four  blue- 
jackets. Lord  Earlshope  was  at  the  gangway  to  receive 
them. 

"  Why  does  he  not  wear  a  sailor's  uniform  ? "  said 
Coquette  to  Mr.  Cassilis,  as  they  drew  near.  "  He  does 
not  seem  to  care  about  anything." 

When  they  stepped  on  board,and  Coquette  had  looked 
around  with  wonder  on  the  whiteness  of  the  deck,  and 
the  scrupulous  neatness  everywhere  visible,  Lady  Drum 
came  forward,  and  kissed  her,  and  said, — 

"  My  dear  child,  I  hope  you  know  about  yachts,  for  I 
don't,  and  I  feel  most  uncomfortably  in  the  way  of  every- 
body." 

"  Yes,  I  know  very  well,"  said  Coquette. 

"  Why,  all  you  have  to  do,"  said  Lord  Earlshope, 
coming  forward,  "  is  to  sit  in  the  cockpit  there,  an  inno- 
vation I  introduced  for  the  very  purpose  of  getting  ladies 
out  of  the  way  during  a  race.  You  need  have  no  fear  ot 
getting  hit  on  the  head  by  a  boom,  or  of  being  washed 
overboard  either ;  and  if  a  wave  should  come  over  the 
stern " 

"  I  hope  there  will  be  nothing  of  the  kind,"  said  Lady 
Drum,  looking  indignantly  out  towards  the  sea. 

The  prospect  there  was  sufficiently  reassuring. 
There  was  a  light  breeze  from  the  southwest,  which  was 
just  enough  to  ruffle  the  water  and  make  it  a  dark  blue. 
Overhead  the  sky  was,  clear  and  calm,  and  the  bluish- 


!  x  6  A  DA  UGHTER  OF  HE  Tff. 

gray  peaks  of  Arran  were  faint  and  aerial  in  the  midday 
mist.  Everything  promised  a  pleasant  run  up  to  Loch- 
fyne,  if  only  the  breeze  would  last. 

While  the  men  were  getting  the  vessel  under  way. 
Lord  Earlshope's  visitors  went  down  below.  If  Coquette 
had  been  pleased  with  the  prettiness  of  the  yacht  abcve, 
she  was  now  charmed  with  the  decorations  of  the  state- 
rooms and  saloon.  The  transparent  flowers  painted  on  the 
skylights ;  the  ornamentation  and  gilding  of  what  she 
called  the  walls  ;  the  innumerable  little  arrangements 
for  comfort ;  all  these  were  matters  for  praise  ;  but  the 
climax  of  her  delight  was  found  in  a  small  harmonium 
which  was  placed  in  the  saloon. 

"  I  should  have  got  a  piano  for  you,"  said  Lord  Earls- 
hope,  making  no  secret  of  his  having  studied  her  pleas- 
ure in  the  matter,  "  but  they  don't  stand  the  sea  so  well. 
Now,  Lady  Drum,  will  you  take  Miss  Cassilis  into  your 
little  state-room,  and  when  you  have  made  yourselves 
thoroughly  at  home,  and  got  out  some  wrappers  for  the 
sea-breezes,  you  know,  you  will  find  luncheon  awaiting 
you  here  ?  Mr.  Cassilis,  you  will  take  a  glass  of  sherry, 
won't  you  ?  You  will  always  find  it  there.  Mr.  Tom, 
do  you  shoot  ?  " 

"  Should  think  so  !  v  said  the  Whaup,  who  had  appar- 
ently forgotten  his  sentiments  of  antagonism  to  Lord 
Earlshope. 

"  I  thought  you  would.  You  will  find  my  breech- 
loader in  your  cabin,  and  the  skipper  will  give  you  cart- 
ridges if  you  ask  him.  Now,  I  must  go  on  deck." 

"  I  never  thought  he  had  so  much  go  in  him,"  said 
the  Whaup  familialy  to  his  father. 

"  So  much  what  ? "    said  the  Minister  severely. 

"Why,  life,  energy.  I  thought  he  was  rather  a  muff 
with  his  white  fingers,  and  his  lazy  lounge  and  that. 
But  he's  not  half  as  bad  a  fellow  as  people  say." 

"  Lord  Earlshope  would  be  pleased  to  know  that  you 
approve  of  him,"  said  his  father  ;  but  the  Whaup  lost  the 
sarcasm,  for  he  had  already  run  up  the  companion,  to  see 
what  was  going  on  above.  His  father,  following,  found 
that  the  Whaup  had  clambered  half-way  up  the  rattlings; 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH.  H7 

to  get  a  view  of  the  surrounding  scenery  as  the  yacht 
stood  out  to  sea. 

When,  some  time  after,  the  luncheon-bell  was  rung, 
and  Lady  Drum  and  Coquette  made  their  appearance,  the 
latter  was  heard  to  say, — 

"  Why  don't  we  go  away  ?  I  do  not  like  to  remain 
in  harbor." 

But  the  moment  she  entered  the  saloon,  and  saw  the 
table  apparently  heeling  over  in  an  alarming  manner,  she 
said, — 

"  We  are  at  sea  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Lord  Earlshope  ;  "  and  missing  a  pretty 
part  of  the  coast.  So  you  ought  to  hasten  your  lunch- 
eon."9 

"  But  what  is  the  matter  with  the  table  ?  "  said  Lady 
Drum,  making  an  effort  to  put  it  at  right  angles  to  her- 
self. Coquette  screamed,  and  caught  her  hand. 

"  If  you  put  it  straight,"  said  Lord  Earlshope,  laugh- 
ing, "  you  will  see  everything  fly  to  the  ground."  It  was 
days,  indeed,  before  Lady  Drum  could  believe  that  this 
tumbling  table  was  safe,  and  many  a  time  she  had  to 
check  herself  from  instinctively  "  putting  it  straight." 

Pleasant,  indeed,  on  that  bright  and  quiet  afternoon 
was  their  run  up  the  broad  channel  between  Bute  and 
Arran.  Far  away  the  coast  of  Ayrshire,  which  they  had 
left,  became  paler  in  the  light ;  while  on  before  them 
successive  bays  opened  out,  with  silent  hills  overlooking 
them,  and  here  and  there  the  white  glimmer  of  a  sea-bird 
in  their  shadows.  Down  in  the  south  the  mountains 
that  rise  from  the  lovely  Loch  Ranza  had  caught  some 
clouds  about  their  peaks,  and  were  black,  as  the  moun- 
tains of  Arran  generally  are ;  but  all  in  front  of  them, 
the  smooth  hills  of  Bute  and  Inch  Marnoch,  the  craggy 
wonders  of  the  Kyles,  the  still  shores  of  Cowal  and  Can- 
tire,  lay  steeped  in  a  soft  autumnal  haze,  with  the  rich 
colors  of  heather  and  fern  only  half  glimmering  through 
the  silver  veil.  It  was  like  a  voyage  into  dreamland,  so 
beautiful  was  the  land  and  sea  and  sky  around  them,  and 
so  still. 

..Such. was  the  manner  of  their  setting  out.     And  in 


!i8  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

the  evening  they  drew  near  the  little  harbor  of  Tarbert, 
and  all  the  west  was  aglow  as  if  with  fire.  Even  after 
they  had  dropped  anchor,  and  the  mountains  of  Cowal 
were  black  as  night,  there  was  a  pale  glare  over  the  sky 
and  out  on  the  broad  bosom  of  the  loch.  Then  through 
the  pallor  of  the  twilight  came  the  stars,  growing  and 
burning  in  the  darkness,  until  Coquette  thought  they 
seemed  just  above  the  points  of  the  tall  masts.  She  stil* 
lingered  on  deck,  when  all  the  others  had  gone  below. 
The  sails  were  down,  lights  run  up,  and  through  the  sky- 
lights of  the  cabin  came  a  dull  yellow  glow,  and  a  sound 
of  voices  which  spoke  of  a  comfortable  and  happy  party 
beneath.  Why  was  it  that  she  was  so  sad  ?  She  had 
had  her  heart's  wish,  she  was  setting  out  on  the  excur- 
sion which  had  hung  before  her  longing  eyes  for  many 
a  day,  and  yet  here  she  sat  in  the  stern  of  the  boat,  look- 
ing up  to  the  throbbing  wonders  of  the  heavens,  or  down 
into  the  starry  plain  of  the  sea,  and  feeling  very  lonely 
and  miserable. 

Lord  Earlshope  came  in  search  of  her. 

<%  Why  do  you  sit  here  alone  ? "  he  said. 

"  I  do  not  know,"  said  Coquette,  rising  wearily. 

"  They  want  you  down  below." 

"  I  will  go  down  ;  but  it  is  very  beautiful  up  here.  I 
have  never  seen  the  stars  so  near.  They  seem  to  be  just 
over  the  top  of  the  hill  there." 

"  You  will  have  many  opportunities  of  admiring  the 
wonderful  sunsets  and  the  clear  nights  of  these  high 
latitudes.  You  may  make  the  cruise  as  long  as  you 
please,  you  know." 

"  But  you  do  not  go  with  us  ?  "  she  asked,  with  some 
little  embarrassment. 

"  For  a  day  or  two,  to  give  you  a  start.  Unless  I  am 
found  to  be  so  useful  that  you  all  ask  me  to  stay." 

"  Perhaps,  then,  you  will  come  all  the  way  with  us  ? " 
said  Coquette,  somewhat  too  eagerly. 

"  Perhaps  I  may." 

Coquette  went  down  into  the  cabin  then,  and  every- 
body was  struck  during  the  evening  by  her  extreme 
amiability  and  cheerfulness.  She  quite  won  the  heart 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 


119 


of  Lady  Drum,  who  said  that  the  effects  of  the  sea-air 
on  the  young  lady  were  surprising  and  gratifying,  and 
needed  only  to  be  supplemented  by  a  little  gentian. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

LOCHFYNE. 

"  IT  is  Eden  ;  it  is  the  garden  of  the  Lord  !  "  said 
the  Minister ;  and  the  sad  and  sunken  eyes  that  had 
grown  dim  over  many  books,  that  had  grown  weary,  too, 
perhaps,  with  the  bleakness  of  the  upland  moor,  looked 
abroad  over  one  of  the  fairest  scenes  in  the  world,  and 
drank  in  the  quiet  and  the  clear  sunshine  of  it.  Far  in 
front  of  him  stretched  the  pale  blue  of  Lochfyne,  that 
was  as  still  and  smooth  and  glass-like  as  the  pale-blue 
sky  sbove.  From  this  point  of  the  Knapdale  shore 
away  up  to  the  fork  of  Loch  Gilp  there  was  not  a  rip- 
ple on  the  calm  surface  ;  but  over  at  the  opposite  shore 
of  Kerry  a  slight  breeze  was  bearing  up  from  the  south, 
and  there  the  blue  of  the  water  was  intense  and  almost 
dark.  Beyond  this  plain  of  blue  lay  the  brown  and  ruddy 
colors  of  the  Kerry  hills,  soft  and  smooth  in  the  mist  of 
the  heat,  while  along  them  moved  great  dashes  of  shadow 
thrown  by  the  slowly  passing  clouds  above.  Through 
the  stillness  of  the  sunshine  they  heard  the  soft  whistle 
of  the  curlew,  and  saw  the  solan  flap  his  heavy  white 
wings  far  down  towards  Arran,  and  watched  the  solitary 
heron  standing  among  the  brown  weeds  out  at  the  point  of 
the  shore,  while  now  and  again  a  salmon-trout  would  leap 
a  foot  into  the  air,  and  fall  with  a  splash  again  into  the 
clear  water.  Then  all  around  them,  where  they  sat  on 
the  pebbly  beach,  was  the  drowsy  warmth  of  the  sun 
glittering  on  the  birch  and  hazel  bushes  by  the  road, 
gleaming  on  the  great  gray  boulders,  and  falling  mistily 
on  the  bushes  and  heather  and  rocks  of  the  hillside.  And 


120  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HE  TIL 

all  this  was  so  still  that  it  scarcely  seemed  to  be  of  this 
world  ;  and  the  murmurs  of  a  stream  coming  down  from 
the  hillside  through  the  trees,  trickling  coolly  and  unseen 
beneath  the  tall  ferns,  had  a  far  and  mournful  sound, 
like  the  sound  of  distant  music  in  a  dream. 

The  stillness  was  broken  by  Coquette  trying  to 
whistle  "  The  Last  Rose  of  Summer."  Then  she  uttered 
a  little  cry  of  delight  as  she  saw  Lord  Earlshope  and 
Lady  Drum  coming  along  the  road  underneath  the  trees; 
and  when  at  length  they  had  drawn  near,  and  had  come 
down  to  the  shore,  Coquette  said, — 

"  Please,  Lady  Drum,  will  you  tell  me  why  my  uncle 
becomes  sad  when  he  sees  a  pretty  day  and  a  pretty 
place.  The  good  weather  does  not  cheer  him " 

"  It  cheers  you,  at  all  events,"  said  Lady  Drum,  with 
a  kindly  scrutiny  of  the  girl's  face.  "  It  gives  you  a 
color  and  a  brightness  that  makes  an  old  woman  like  me 
feel  young  again  only  to  look  at  ye.  How  have  you  been 
employing  yourself  ?  ' 

"  I  ?  I  have  been  trying  to  whistle  as  my  cousin 
whistles,  but  I  cannot  do  it  like  him,  perhaps  because  I 
have  no  pockets.  He  never  is  able  to  whistle  unless  he 
puts  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  and  looks  careless,  and 
stands  so.  Then  I  have  watched  the  gray  heron  out  at 
the  rocks  there,  and  I  have  been  wishing  he  would  get  a 
fish. 

"  I  have  been  wishing  I  had  a  gun,"  said  the  practi- 
cal Whaup,  with  obvious  discontent. 

"  And  my  uncle,  he  has  been  sitting  and  looking  far 
away,  looking  tired,  too,  and  weary,  just  as  if  he  were 
still  in  church." 

"  Listening  to  one  of  my  own  sermons,  I  suppose  ?  " 
said  the  Minister,  taking  his  niece  by  the  ear.  "  I  hope 
I  have  not  been  oppressing  you  with  my  dulness  ?  " 

"  Ah,  no,  no  !"  she  said.  "But  I  did  not  speak  to 
you  ;  you  were  thinking  of  old  years  gone  away,  were 
you  not  ? " 

The  Minister  looked  at  the  girl,  and  her  eyes  seemed 
to  have  divined  what  he  was  thinking  of.  But  presently 
she  turned  to  Lord  Earlshope,  and  said, — 


A  DA  UGHTER  OF  HE  TH.  j  2 1 

"  We  go  not  to-day  ?  We  do  not  perhaps  to-morrow 
either  ?  " 

"  Why,"  said  Lord  Earlshope,  with  a  smile,  "  you 
might  turn  your  newest  accomplishments  to  some  use. 
Could  you  whistle  a  breeze  to  us  ?  We  are  helpless  you 
see,  until  we  get  wind." 

"  I  thought  an  English  milord  never  wanted  for  any- 
thing that  he  did  not  get,"  she  said,  with  a  look  of  grave 
surprise. 

The  Whaup  began  to  think  that  his  cousin  was  a 
deal  to  clever  to  be  safe. 

"  Would  it  grieve  you  so  much  to  stay  here  a  few 
days  ? "  said  Lord  Earlshope. 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  Coquette  ;  "  I  should  prefer  to  stay 
here  always." 

"  I  have  had  the  yacht  taken  round  to  Maol-Darach 
Bay,  that  little  shingly  creek  west  of  the  harbor,  since 
you  complained  of  the  smell  of  herring  this  morning. 
And  when  you  wish  to  go  into  the  village  you  must 
ask  the  captain  to  send  a  boat  with  you.  By  the  way, 
there  will  be  a  boat  here  presently  for  you.  I  thought 
you  might  be  too  tired  to  care  about  walking  back." 

"  It  was  very  kind  of  you  to  think  of  all  that,"  said 
Coquette,  timidly,  and  looking  to  the  ground. 

It  had  already  come  to  be  regarded  as  a  matter  of 
course  that  everybody  should  consider  Coquette  as  of 
first  importance,  and  obey  her  slightest  whim,  and  an- 
ticipate her  smallest  wishes.  But  the  most  systematic 
and  persistent  of  her  slaves  was  Lord  Earlshope  himself, 
who  seemed  to  have  discovered  a  new  method  of  pass- 
ing the  time  in  trying  to  please  this  young  person  by 
small  attentions  ;  and  these  he  offered  in  a  friendly  and 
familiar  way,  which  robbed  them  of  any  significance, 
they  might  otherwise  have  had.  The  small  tyrant,  with 
the  dark  eyes,  and  the  delicate,  finely  formed  face,  ac- 
cepted these  ministrations  in  that  spirit  of  careless  amia- 
bility which  was  natural  to  her.  Sometimes,  but  rarely, 
she  would  appear  to  be  struck  by  this  or  that  act  of 
kindness,  and  seem  almost  disturbed  that  she  could  not 
convey  a  sense  of  her  gratitude  in  the  broken  tongue 


!  2  2  A  DA  UGHTER  OF  HE  TH. 

she  spoke  ;  but  ordinarily  she  passed  from  hour  to  hour 
in  the  same  happy  unconsciousness  and  delight  in  the 
present,  glad  that  all  her  friends  were  around  her,  and 
comfortable,  glad  that  she  could  add  to  their  enjoyment 
by  being  cheerful  and  merry.  Selfish  she  certainly  was 
not  ;  and  there  was  no  sort  of  trouble  or  pain  she  would 
not  have  endured  to  give  pleasure  to  those  who  were 
her  friends  ;  but  she  would  have  been  blind,  indeed,  had 
she  not  perceived  that  to  give  pleasure  she  had  only  to 
allow  herself  to  be  pleased,  that  her  mere  presence  dif- 
fused a  sense  of  satisfaction  through  the  small  meetings 
that  were  held  in  the  cabin  of  the  yacht,  when  the  swing- 
ing lamps  were  lit,  and  the  stars  overhead  shut  out,  and 
the  amusements  of  the  evening  commenced.  TheWhaup 
used  to  say  that  she  was  continually  making  pretty  pic- 
tures ;  and  he  even  condescended  at  times  to  express 
approval  at  the  neatness  of  her  dress,  or  to  suggest 
alterations  in  the  disposal  of  her  big  masses  of  dark- 
brown  hair. 

"And  in  time,  you  know,"  be  remarked  to  her,  "you 
\vi-ll  get  to  talk  like  other  people.'0 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  talk  like  you,"  said  Coquette. 

"  I  can  at  least  make  myself  intelligible,"  he  re- 
torted. 

"  Do  not  I  become  intelligible  ? "  asked  Coquette, 
meekly  ;  and  then,  of  course,  the  least  symptom  of  doubt 
on  her  part  disarmed  the  Whaup's  criticism,  and  made 
him  declare  that  she  spoke  very  well  indeed. 

The  measured  splash  of  oars  was  now  heard,  and  the 
heron  slowly  rose  into  the  air  with  a  few  heavy  flaps  of 
his  wings,  and  proceeded  to  settle  on  a  farther  promon- 
tory. The  boat,  with  its  four  rowers,  came  round  the 
point ;  and  in  a  few  minutes  the  heavily  laden  boat  was 
on  its  way  back  to  the  yacht. 

Coquette  was  delighted  with  Naol-Daroch  Bay,  she 
insisted  upon  landing  at  once ;  and  she  and  the  Whaup 
accordingly  ran  up  the  white  shingle,  and  made  for  the 
hillside.  Coquette  stood  upon  a  rock  that  was  perched 
high  among  the  heathery  roughnesses  of  the  hill,  and 
waved  her  handkerchief  to  those  who  had  by  this  time 


A  VA  UGHTER  OF  HF  777.  1 2  3 

gone  on  board  the  yacht %,  Lord  Earlshope  waved  his 
cap  and  Mr.  Cassilis  his  walkingstick  ;  Lady  Drum  had 
gone  below. 

"  Now  we  shall  go  up  this  hill,  and  round  and  round, 
and  back  by  the  rocks  of  the  shore,"  said  Coquette. 

"  What's  the  use  ?  "  said  the  Whaup.  "  I  haven't  a 
gun  ;  and  if  I  had,  I  daren't  shoot  up  here." 

"  Why  must  you  kill  something  wherever  you  go  ?  " 
said  Coquette. 

"  Why  must  you  scramble  along  a  hill,  all  for  nothing, 
like  a  goat  ?"  said  the  Whaup. 

"  Because  it  is  something  to  do,"  said  Coquette. 

"  You  are  a  pretty  invalid  ! "  remarked  the  Whaup. 
"  But  here,  give  me  your  hand,  if  you  want  climbing,  I'll 
give  you  enough  of  it." 

"  No,"  said  Coquette,  planting  her  foot  firmly.  "  I 
like  you  when  you  are  gentle,  like  Lord  Earlshope  ;  but 
I  am  not  going  to  be  pulled  by  a  big  rough  boy." 

"  I  have  a  great  mind  to  carry  you  against  your  will," 
said  the  Whaup,  with  the  demon  of  mischief  beginning 
to  grin  in  his  eyes. 

"  I  would  kill  you  if  you  tried,"  said  Coquette,  with 
a  frown. 

He  came  forward  and  took  her  hand  quite  gently. 

"  Have  I  vexed  you  ?  Are  you  really  angry,  Co- 
quette ?  You  didn't  think  I  was  serious,  did  you  ?  You 
know  I  wouldn't  vex  you,  if  I  got  the  world  for  it." 

A  certain  quivering  of  the  lip,  fora  moment  uncer- 
tain, resolved  itself  into  a  smile,  and  that  into  a  laugh, 
and  then  Coquette  said, — 

"  You  are  a  very  good  boy,  Tom,  when  you  like. 
Somebody  will  get  very  fond  of  you  some  day." 

The  Whaup  grew  more  serious  then  ;  and,  indeed,  it 
seemed  to  Coquette  that  ever  after  that  time  her  cousin's 
manner  towards  her  was  more  reserved  and  grave  than 
it  had  been  before.  He  did  not  try  to  drag  her  into  his 
boyish  pranks,  as  he  had  been  wont  to  do.  On  the  con- 
trary, he  himself  seemed  somewhat  altered,  and  at  times 
she  caught  him  in  a  deep  reverie.  He  began  to  talk 
more  about  his  coming  winter  studies  at  the  Glasgow 


124 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 


University  ;  and  was  even  found,  on  rare  occasions,  ab- 
sorbed in  a  book, 

He  did  not  cease  to  exhibit  those  frank  and  manly 
ways  which  she  had  always  liked,  nor  did  he  even  put 
any  marked  restraint  on  his  relations  with  her.  He  was 
as  impertinently  straightforward  as  ever,  if  the  neatness 
of  her  wristbands  called  for  commendation,  or  if  the 
streak  of  dark-blue  ribbon  did  not  sufficiently  curb  the 
wildness  of  her  hair.  But  he  was  more  serious  in  his 
ways  ;  and  sometimes  she  caught  him  looking  at  her  from 
a  distance  in  a  cold  way,  as  if  she  were  a  stranger,  and 
he  was  desirous  to  impress  her  appearance  on  his 
memory. 

That  evening  he  said  to  her  briefly, — 

"  Lord  Earlshope  and  I  are  going  to  start  at  two  to- 
morrow morning,  to  go  along  the  coast  and  see  if  we  can 
shoot  some  seals." 

"  But  why  should  you  take  the  trouble  to  kill  them  ? 
Is  it  a  pleasure  to  kill  them  ? " 

"  Bah  !  "  he  said.  "  Women  don't  understand  these 
things.  You  wouldn't  hear  a  man  ask  such  a  question 
— except,  perhaps,  Earlshope  himself,  he  might,  he  seems 
to  think  in  lots  of  things  exactly  as  you  do." 

This  was  said  with  no  particular  intention  ;  and  yet 
the  girl  looked  apprehensive  as  though  the  Whaup  had 
been  making  some  complaint. 

Then  some  time  after  he  remarked  to  her, — 

"  I  don't  think  wicked  people  seem  so  wicked  when 
you  come  to  know  them." 

Coquette  was  looking  over  the  taffrail ;  she  turned 
towards  him  and  said,  calmly, — 

"  Do  you  mean  me  or  Lord  Earlshope  ? " 

"  Why  should  you  always  think  of  him  ?  "  said  the 
Whaup.  "  Would  you  be  very  angry  if  what  I  said  ap- 
plied to  both  of  you  ?  " 

With  that  he  laughed  and  walked  away,  leaving  Co- 
quette to  wonder  whether  her  cousin,  too,  regarded  het 
as  a  wicked  person. 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HE  TIL 


125 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

COQUETTE   SAILS    TO  THE   NORTH. 

IN  the  darkness  the  yellow  lights  of  the  yacht  were 
shining  on  the  spars  and  the  rigging — the  water  that 
lapped  against  her  side  sparkled  with  stars  of  phosphor- 
escent fire,  and  a  slight  wind,  coming  through  the  gloom, 
told  of  the  rustling  of  the  ferns  and  bushes  on  the  hill- 
side, when  certain  dusky  figures  appeared  on  deck,  and 
began  to  converse  in  whispers.  The  Whaup  was  yawn- 
ing dreadfully,  and  perhaps  wishing  there  was  not  a  seal 
in  the  world  ;  but  he  had  proposed  the  adventure,  to 
which  Lord  Earlshope  had  good  naturedly  acceded,  and 
so  he  felt  himself  bound  in  honor  not  to  retract. 

With  their  guns  in  their  hands  they  got  down  into 
the  little  boat  which  was  waiting  for  them,  and  the  two 
men  began  to  pull  away  gently  from  the  yacht.  The 
blades  of  their  strokes  struck  a  flash  of  light  deep  into 
the  water  ;  and  the  white  stars  of  the  waves  burned  even 
more  keenly  than  the  other  reflected  stars  which,  farther 
away,  were  glittering  on  the  black  surface  of  the  sea. 
Towards  the  land  some  vague  and  dusky  forms  that  were 
scarcely  visible  were  known  to  be  the  iron-bound  coast ; 
and  in  uncomfortable  proximity  the  Whaup  could  hear 
the  waves  splashing  in  upon  the  rocks.  There  was  no 
other  sound  but  that  and  the  measured  fall  of  the  oars. 
All  overhead  the  innumerable  stars  burned  white  and 
clear  ;  there  were  flickerings  of  the  reflected  light  on  the 
moving  plain  of  the  sea;  and  in  there  at  the  shore  a 
vague  darkness,  and  the  dashing  of  unseen  waves. 

When  they  had  thus  proceeded  a  certain  distance 
along  the  coast,  the  bow  of  the  boat  was  turned  shore- 
ward, and  the  men  pulled  gently  in  towards  the  rocks. 
In  the  starlight  the  outlines  of  the  hills  above  now  be- 
came dimly  visible  ;  but  down  at  the  shore,  whither  they 


j  2  6  A  DA  UGHTER  OF  HE  TIL 

were  tending,  blackness  universal  seemed  to  hide  both 
shore  and  sea.  The  noise  all  around  them,  however, 
told  the  Whaup  that  they  must  be  near  land  ;  and  in  a 
few  minutes  the  boat  was  cautiously  run  in,  one  of  the 
men  jumping  out  and  holding  her  bow.  With  a  double- 
barrelled  gun  as  a  balancing-pole,  the  Whaup  now  found 
himself  struggling  over  a  series  of  rocks  that  were 
treacherously  covered  with  sea-weed;  while,  as  he  got 
on  to  higher  ground,  the  rocks  increased  in  size,  and 
the  gaps  between  them  were  plunged  in  even  profounder 
darkness.  Presently  he  heard  Lord  Earlshope  calling 
on  him  to  halt ;  and  shortly  thereafter  the  sailor,  who 
had  landed,  appeared  clambering  over  the  boulders  in 
order  to  take  the  lead. 

Their  course  was  now  a  sufficiently  perilous  one. 
The  great  masses  of  tumbled  rock  that  here  form  the 
coast-line  appeared  to  go  precipitately  down  into  the 
sea,  a  great  black  gulf  which  they  could  hear  splashing 
beneath  them ;  while  ever  and  anon  they  came  to  deep 
ravines  in  the  sides  of  the  hill,  down  which  small  stream- 
lets could  be  heard  trickling.  Their  progress  along 
this  rough  coast,  generally  some  fifty  or  a  hundred  feet 
above  the  sea,  was  picturesque  but  uncomfortable.  The 
Whaup  found  that,  in  spite  of  all  his  wild  plunges  and 
daring  leaps,  the  sailor  distanced  him  considerably  ;  and 
ahead  of  him  he  could  only  indistinctly  see  a  black 
figure  which  sometimes  rose  up  clear  and  defined  against 
the  starlit  sky,  and  at  other  times  was  vaguely  seen  to 
crawl  along  the  surface  of  a  gray  shelf  of  rock  like  some 
dusky  alligator.  Now  he  found  himself  up  to  the  neck 
among  immense  brakens  ;  again  he  was  plunged  into 
some  mossy  hole,  in  which  his  boots  were  like  to  re- 
main. Not  unfrequently  he  had  to  go  on  hands  and 
knees  across  some  more  than  usually  precipitous  shelf, 
the  barrels  of  his  gun  making  sore  work  of  his  knuckles 
as  he  clung  to  the  rough  surface. 

Another  halt  was  called.  When  the  small  bay 
around  Battle  Island,  where  the  seals  were  expected  to 
be  found,  had  nearly  been  reached,  it  was  determined, 
to  prevent  noise,  that  they  should  take  off  their  boots, 


A  DA  VGHTER  OF  HE  TIT-  !  2  7 

and  creep  along  the  rocks  on  their  stocking-soles.  The 
stars  were  now  paling  ;  and,  as  the  faint  light  of  dawn 
would  soon  appear,  every  precaution  was  necessary  that 
the  seals  should  not  become  aware  of  their  approach. 
No  sooner,  indeed,  had  the  Whaup  removed  his  boots 
than  he  danced  a  wild  dance  of  exultation,  so  delighted 
was  he  to  find  that  the  soles  of  his  stockings  caught  so 
easily  and  surely  on  the  surface  of  the  boulders.  There 
was  now  far  less  risk  of  a  sudden  tumble  headlong  into 
the  sea,  although,  to  be  sure,  even  up  here  among  the 
rooks,  it  was  not  pleasant,  in  the  cold  of  the  night,  to 
find  one's  feet  go  down  into  a  pool  of  mossy  water. 

"Do  you  regret  having  come? "said  Lord  Earls- 
hope. 

"  Regret  it !"  said  the  Whaup.  "  I'd  wade  a  mile 
up  to  my  neck  to  shoot  a  seal." 

Then  he  added,  with  his  usual  frankness, — 

"  I  didn't  expect  you'd  have  been  able  to  keep  up 
with  us." 

"  Why  ?  " 

"  Well,"  said  the  Whaup,  seeing  before  him  the  out- 
line of  a  tall,  lithe,  slim  figure,  "  I  didn't  think  you  were 
much  g»od  for  this  sort  of  rough  work." 

Earlshope  laughed,  not  very  loudly. 

"  Perhaps  not,"  he  said.  He  did  not  think  it  worth 
while  to  astonish  Master  Tom  with  tales  of  what  he  had 
clone  in  the  way  of  muscular  performances.  "  But  you 
should  not  be  severe  on  me.  I  rather  fancy  this  is  a 
piece  of  folly  ;  but  I  have  undertaken  it  merely  to  in- 
terest you." 

The  Whaup  noticed  at  this  moment  that  his  com- 
panion held  the  heavy  rifle  which  he  carried  in  a  very 
easy  and  facile  manner. 

"  You  may  be  stronger  than  you  look,"  observed  the 
Whaup,  throwing  out  this  qualification  from  mere  good- 
humor.  He  still  retained  an  impression  that  Earlshope, 
with  his  lady-like  fingers,  and  his  pretty  mustache,  and 
his  delicate  jewelry,  was  something  of  a  milksop 

Absolute  silence  was  now  the  watchword  as  they 
advanced.  There  was  no  scraping  of  heels  on  the  grit 


1 2  8  A  DA  UGHTER  OF  HE  TIL 

of  the  rocks,  no  clink  of  a  trigger-guard  in  putting  down 
the  hand  for  safety's  sake.  In  a  thief-like  fashion  they 
stole  along  the  high  and  rugged  coast,  now  clambering 
over  huge  blocks  of  stone,  and  again  righting  their  way 
through  fern  and  bush,  with  their  heads  low  and  their 
footfalls  light.  At  length  the  sailor  stopped,  and  mo- 
tioned to  Lord  Earlshope  and  the  Whaup  to  descend. 
Great  was  the  joy  of  the  latter  on  perceiving  that  at 
last  there  was  a  level  bit  of  shore  towards  which  they 
•were  making  their  way.  Having  gone  down,  in  a  snake- 
like  fashion,  over  the  great  boulders,  they  now  crept 
downward  towards  the  shore,  and  at  length  took  up 
their  position  behind  two  pieces  of  rock,  from  which 
they  could  see  the  channel  in  front  of  them,  lying  be- 
tween the  land  and  the  dusky  object  which  they  knew 
to  be  Battle  Island. 

Very  still  and  weird  was  this  place  in  the  dark  of 
the  morning,  with  the  cold  air  from  the  sea  stirring  in 
the  brushwood  overhead,  and  with  the  ceaseless  plash 
of  the  waves  echoing  all  along  the  solitary  coast.  A  faint 
film  of  cloud  had  come  over  the  sky  and  hid  the  stars  ;  but 
in  the  east  there  seemed  to  be  a  pale  wan  gray,  far  ever 
the  dark  water  towards  Ardlamont  Point.  And,  by  and 
by,  as  they  sat  on  the  cold  rocks,  and  waited,  there  became 
visible,  whence  it  had  come  no  one  could  say,  a  brilliant 
planet,  burning  like  gold  in  the  gray  mist  above  the 
eastern  sea,  and  they  knew  that  it  was  the  star  of  the 
morning.  Very  slowly  the  gray  light  grew  ;  very  slowly 
the  dark  outline  of  Battle  Island  became  more  defined  ; 
and  the  black  hollows  of  the  waves  that  came  in  towards 
the  shore  had  now  a  pale  hue  between  them,  that  scarcely 
could  be  called  light. 

Patiently  they  waited,  scanning  the  outline  of  the  is- 
land rocks,  and  watching  all  the  water  around  for  the 
rolling  of  the  seals.  There  was  no  sign  of  life.  Perhaps 
the  gray  in  the  east  was  waxing  stronger,  it  was  impossi- 
ble to  tell,  for  their  eyes  had  grown  bewildered  with  the 
constant  motion  of  the  tumbling  waves  and  the  eager 
scrutiny  of  these  black  lines  and  hollows. 

Suddenly  there  was  a  quick  chirp  just  beside  them 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH.  I2Q 

and  the  Whaup's  heart  leaped  with  surprise.  He  turned, 
to  find  a  sealark  hopping  quite  near  him  ;  and  at  the  same 
moment  that  he  perceived  this  first  symptom  of  the 
awaking  life  of  the  dawn,  he  became  aware  that  it  had 
grown  lighter  out  by  Ardlamont  Point. 

And  now,  with  a  strange  and  rapid  transition,  as  if  the 
world  had  begun  to  throb  with  the  birth  of  the  new  day, 
there  arose  in  the  eastern  sky  a  great  smoke  of  red,  a 
pink  mist  that  rose  and  spread  as  if  from  some  great 
conflagration  beyond  the  line  of  the  sea.  All  in  the  west, 
by  the  far  shores  of  Knapdale  and  up  the  great  stretch 
of  Lochfyne,  lay  a  dense  gray  fog,  in  which  hills  and  is- 
lands lay  like  gloomy  clouds  ;  but  out  there  at  the  eastern 
horizon  there  was  a  glow  of  rose-colored  smoke,  which  as 
yet  had  no  reflection  on  the  sea.  And  while  they  looked 
on  it,  half  forgetting  the  object  of  their  quest  in  the 
splendor  of  this  sight,  the  perpetual  wonder  and  mystery 
of  the  dawn,  the  red  mist  parted,  and  broke  into  long 
parallel  lines  of  cloud,  which  were  touched  with  sharp, 
jewel-red  lines  of  fire  ;  and  as  the  keenness  of  the  crim- 
son waxed  stronger  and  stronger,  there  came  over  the 
sea  a  long  and  level  flush  of  dull  salmon-color,  which 
bathed  the  waves  in  its  light,  leaving  their  shadows  an  in- 
tense and  dark  green.  The  glare  and  the  majesty  of  this 
spectacle  lasted  but  fora  few  minutes.  The  intensity  of 
the  colors  subsided  ;  the  salmo-n-colored  waves  grew  gray 
and  green  ;  a  cold  twilight  spread  over  the  sky  ;  and  with 
the  stirring  of  the  wind  came  in  the  new  life  of  the  day, 
the  crowing  of  some  grouse  far  up  in  the  heather,  the 
chirping  of  the  birds  in  the  bushes,  the  calling  of  some 
solitary  goat  on  the  hill,  and  the  slow  flapping  of  a  pair 
of  herons  coming  landward  from  the  sea. 

Suddenly  Lord  Earlshope,  who  had  been  peering  over 
the  edge  of  the  rock  before  him,  touched  his  companion's 
arm.  The  Whaup  went  forward  on  his  knees,  and 
stealthily  looked  over  in  the  direction  pointed  out.  He 
could  see  nothing  but  the  dark  rocks  of  Battle  Island,  in 
the  midst  of  the  grayish-green  water.  He  was  about  to 
express  his  disappointment,  when  it  seemed  to  him  that 
the  outline  of  a  bit  of  rock  at  the  end  of  the  island  was 


!3o  A  DAUGHTER  OF  IIZT1L 

moving.  Could  it  be  the  undulations  of  the  waves  whichj 
were  surging  all  around  ;  or  was  that  motion  of  the  blackj 
line  the  motion  of  an  animal  that  had  got  up  on  it  from] 
the  water  ? 

Lord  Earlshope  handed  his  rifle  to  the  Whaup,  with' 
a  hurried  gesture.  But  the  arrangement  had  been  that, 
while  the  one  had  a  rifle  and  the  other  a  double-barrelled 
fowling-piece  loaded  with  heavy  shot,  the  distance  of  the 
seal  was  to  decide  which  should  fire.  Accordingly  the 
Whaup  refused  to  take  the  rifle. 

"  It  is  your  shot,"  he  whispered. 

"  I  don't  want  to  kill  the  brute :  why  should  I  ?  "  said 
Lord  Earlshope,  carelessly. 

Even  as  the  Whaup  was  in  the  act  of  putting  the 
rifle  cautiously  over  the  rock  he  remembered  what  Co- 
quette had  said,  and  also  that  he  had  made  the  haphazard 
guess  that  Earlshope  would  probably  say  the  same.  But 
there  was  little  time  to  think  of  such  things.  His  breath 
was  coming  and  going  at  double-quick  time,  and  he  held 
his  teeth  tight  as  he  brought  the  sight  of  the  barrel 
up  to  the  line  of  rock.  It  rested  there  for  a  moment,  and 
there  was  a  spurt  of  fire,  a  bang  that  echoed  and  re-echoed 
up  among  the  rocky  hills,  and  then  Lord  Earlshope  rose, 
glad  to  be  able  to  stretch  his  limbs  at  last. 

"  You  have  either  missed  altogether  or  shot  him  dead  ; 
there  was  no  movement  whatever  when  you  fired." 

"  By  Jove,  then  !  "  said  the  Whaup,  with  tremendous 
eagerness,  "  I  have  shot  him  dead  if  there  was  a  seal 
there  at  all,  for  I  know  the  muzzle  of  the  rifle  was  as 
steady  as  a  rock  when  I  fired." 

"  We  shall  see  presently,"  said  his  companion.  "  They 
will  bring  the  boat  up  now/' 

Presently  the  two  men  were  seen  pulling  round  the 
point,  and  then  Lord  Earlshope  and  the  Whaup  went 
out  to  the  edge  of  the  water,  got  into  the  boat,  and  were 
pulled  out  to  the  island.  Very  anxiously  did  one  of 
them,  at  least,  regard  that  small,  dark  promontory  ;  but 
there  was  nothing  visible.  They  drew  nearer,  they  now 
saw  the  surface  of  the  rocks  clearly,  there  was  nothing 
lying  there. 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  IIETH.  !3l 

"  Very  sorry,"  said  Lord  Earlshope,  "  but  you  seem 
to  have  missed." 

"  I  didn't  miss !  "  the  Whaup  insisted.  "  Let  us 
land,  and  see." 

So  at  a  convenient  spot  they  ran  the  boat  in  and  got 
out  on  the  rocks,  and  then  made  their  way  along  to  the 
end  of  the  island.  Suddenly  the  Whaup  uttered  a  pierc- 
ing yell  of  delight,  and  began  to  clamber  along  the  rocks 
in  the  most  reckless  fashion.  Lord  Earlshope,  follow- 
ing after  him,  found  him  grasping  with  both  his  hands 
a.  round-headed,  fat,  and  limp-looking  animal,  which  he 
was  endeavoring  to  drag  up  to  the  higher  platform. 

"There,  did  I  miss  ?  "  he  cried. 

"  Well,  since  you  have  got  him,  what  do  you  mean 
to  do  with  him  ?  "  said  Lord  Earl-shope,  with  a  smile. 
<4  You  have  had  the  satisfaction  of  killing  him,  and  the 
much  rarer  satisfaction  of  getting  him  after  killing  him, 
but  what  then  ?  " 

The  Whaup  dropped  the  seal  on  the  rocks  again, 
and  looked  at  the  unfortunate  beast  with  some  disap- 
pointment mingled  with  his  pride. 

"  What  do  they  make  of  these  beasts  ?  You  can't 
make  sealskin  waistcoats  out  of  that  soapy-looking 
stuff  ? " 

"  You  may  eat  him,  if  you  like,  I  suppose  he  is  not 
much  oilier  than  a  solan.  However,  we  may  as  well  lug 
him  into  the  boat,  and  get  back  to  Maol-Daroch.  It  is 
singular  we  have  seen  none  of  his  companions,  though." 

The  men  approached  the  slippery  animal  with  much 
more  caution  than  the  Whaup  had  displayed,  they  were 
evidently  not  quite  sure  that  the  whiskered  mouth  might 
not  open  and  proceed  from  a  bark  to  a  bite.  He  was 
got  into  the  boat  at  last,  Lord  Earlshope  and  the  Whaup 
following  ;  and  again  the  fall  of  the  oars  was  heard 
along  the  lonely  coast.  It  was  now  broad  daylight ;  and 
when  they  reached  Maol-Daroch  Bay  the  sun  was  shin- 
ing on  the  green  hillside,  and  on  the  white  beach,  and 
on  the  far  blue  plain  of  the  sea. 

Coquette  was  standing  at  the  stern  of  the  yacht  as 
they  approached,  with  the  sunlight  coloring  her  cheefc 


132 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 


and  gleaming  on  the  white  handkerchief  she  waved  to 
them. 

"  Have  you  had  a  success  ?  "  she  said.  "  Oh,  how 
very  miserable  you  look  !  " 

"  It  isn't  half  as  meeserayble  as  we  feel,"  remarked 
the  Whaup,  who  was  sleepy  and  hungry  and  stiff. 

"  You  have  not  shot  nothing  !  "  said  Coquette,  clap, 
ping  her  hands,  "  or  you  would  come  home  proud  and 
fierce,  like  the  old  north  warriors  when  they  did  come 
home  from  the  sea.  What  is  that  in  the  boat  ?  Ah  ! 
You  shoot  one  ?  yes  !  It  is  a  beastly  looking,  I  mean  it 
is  hideous,  horrid !  " 

The  seal  was  allowed  for  the  present  to  remain  in 
the  small  boat,  and  Lord  Earlshope  and  the  Whaup 
came  on  deck.  To  the  sleepy  eyes  of  the  Whaup,  who 
was  cold  and  wretched  in  spite  of  hi-s  triumph,  his  cousin 
seemed  quite  offensively  cheerful  and  bright  and  com- 
fortable. 

"  Have  you  had  breakfast  yet  ? ''  said  Lord  Earlshope. 

"  No,"  she  said.  "  I  have  made  friends  with  your 
captain,  and  he  has  given  me  two  apples  and  a  big 
bunch  of  grapes.  I  am  sorry  I  have  eaten  all — I  can- 
not give  you  one." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Lord  Earlshope.  "  I  suppose 
your  cousin  will  follow  my  example,  get  downstairs  and 
have  a -sleep.  Good  bye  till  luncheon-time,  Miss  Cassilis, 
I  presume  by  then  we  shall  be  up  at  Ardrishaig." 

So  they  went  below,  and  Coquette  sat  down,  and 
took  up  a  book  she  had  been  carrying  with  her.  But 
she  could  not  read,  for  there  was  sunlight  abroad,  and 
the  fluttering  of  wind  through  the  thin  ropes  that 
stretched  up  into  the  blue,  and  the  ripple  of  the  bright 
water  all  around.  They  were  about  to  set  out  now  on 
their  voyage  northward,  that  far  wandering  into  the  un- 
known Western  Isles  of  which  she  had  dreamed,  and 
he  had  spoken  no  word  of  his  leaving  them.  Would  he 
go  all  the  way,  then,  forgetting  the  half-promise  that 
had  been  made,  and  spend  all  this  happy  time  with  them, 
afar  from  the  dull  routine-life  and  the  harsh-thinking 
people  of  the  land  ?  As  she  thought  of  the  fair  prospect 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH.  133 

that  was  thus  opened  out  before  her,  the  pages  of  the 
book  that  lay  in  the  sunshine  were  filled  with  pictures, 
wonderful  landscapes  that  burned  in  the  brightest  of 
colors,  and  had  the  stirring  of  wind  and  of  light  in  them, 
Lady  Drum  came  on  deck,  and  was  surprised  to  find  the 
girl  sitting  all  alone,  looking  so  wonderfully  bright  and 
happy. 

"  To-day  we  set  sail,"  said  Coquette,  almost  laughing 
with  pure  gladness,  "  and  go  away,  away  beyond  all  you 
can  think  of,  among  the  hills  and  mountains  and  the  sea." 

"  Perhaps  you  would  be  glad  not  to  come  back  ? " 
said  Lady  Drum,  looking  into  the  happy  face,  and  hold- 
ing both  the  girl's  hands. 

"  Yes,  I  should  be  glad  not  to  come  back,  it  is  so 
pleasant  here,  and  where  we  are  going,  will  not  that  be 
far  more  pleasant  ?  " 

"  That  is  what  young  folks  always  think,"  said  Lady 
Drum  ;  "  always  looking  forward  with  hope  in  their  eyes. 
But  we  who  have  got  older,  and  have  gone  farther  on  the 
voyage,  we  look  back." 

And  while  these  two  and  Mr.  Cassilis  were  at  break- 
fast they  heard  the  sails  being  hoisted  above  ;  and  when 
they  went  on  deck  they  found  the  great  breadths  of  white 
canvas  lying  over  before  a  southerly  breeze  ;  and  there 
was  a  hissing  of  water  at  the  bow  and  along  the  bulwarks ; 
and,  while  Maol-Darock  Bay  and  Tarbert,  and  all  the 
rocks  about  were  slowly  receding  to  the  south,  before 
them  there  opened  up  the  great  blue  breadth  of  Lock- 
fyne,  with  the  far,  faint  hills  shining  whitely  in  the  sun. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

COQUETTE   DISCOURSES. 

"I  THINK  your  cousin  is  very  fond  of  you,"  said  Lady 
Drum,  with  a  good-natured  smile,  to  Coquette.  They 
were  running  up  the  blue  water  of  Lochfyne,  with  a  light 
breeze  keeping  the  Caroline  s  canvas  as  tight  as  a  drum. 


r>4  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HE  Til. 

The  Whaup  was  up  at  the  bow,  lying  prone  on  the  deck, 
with  the  barrels  of  his  breech-loader  peeping  over  the 
bulwarks. 

4<  Oh,  yes,  I  am  sure  he  is,"  said  Coquette,  seriously. 
"  He  will  do  anything  for  me  ;  he  has  dared  to  fight  dis- 
agreeable people  for  me  ;  he  has  got  into  danger  for  me  ; 
he  is  very  kind,  and  just  now,  look  !  he  is  trying  to  get 
for  me  some  wild  bird,  I  do  not  know  its  name,  which 
has  beautiful  feathers." 

"  All  that  is  nothing,"  said  Lady  Drum,  taking  Co- 
quette's hand  in  hers.  •'  Don't  you  think  that  some  day 
or  other  he  may  ask  you  to  marry  him  ? '' 

The  elderly  lady  who  was  now  looking  at  Coquette's 
face  expected,  as  elderly  ladies  do  expect  when  they  be- 
gin to  tease  girls  about  love  affairs,  that  her  companion 
would  blush  and  protest  and  be  pleased,  and  affect  to  be 
indignant.  On  the  contrary,  Coquette  said,  simply  and 
gravely, 

"  Yes,  I  have  thought  of  that.  But  he  is  too  young." 

"  And  you  also,  perhaps.  In  a  year  or  two  he  will 
be  a  man,  and  you  will  be  marriageable." 

"  Then,"  said  Coquette,  dubiously,  "  it  may  be.  I 
do  not  know,  because  my  uncle  has  not  spoken  to  me  of 
any  such  thing  ;  but  he  may  think  it  a  good  marriage, 
and  arrange  k." 

"  Bless  me,  lassie!  "  exclaimed  Lady  Drum,  in  amaze- 
ment. "  Is  it  true  that  "folks  make  slaves  of  their  chil- 
dren in  that  way  in  Frai  Ice  ?  I  have  heard  of  it ;  I  did 
not  believe  it.  In  this  country  girls  arrange  their  own 
marriages." 

"  That,  too,  is  very  good,"  said  Coquette,  "  when  i-t 
is  with  their  parents'  wish.  It  is  of  more  consequence 
that  a  girl  pleases  her  parents  than  herself,  is  it  not  ?  " 

"  And  make  herself  miserable  all  her  life  ? ''  said 
Lady  Drum,  startled  to  find  herself  arguing,  in  defiance 
of  all  precedent,  on  the  side  of  youth  against  age." 

"  But  that  does  not  happen,"  said  Coquette.  "  Now 
one  of  my  good  friends  at  Nantes — she  was  told  by  her 
parents  that  she  had  to  marry  a  young  gentleman  who 
was  coming  home  from  the  Martinique,  and  had  never 


A  DA  UGHTER  OF  HE  77/.  I  3  5 

been  to  France  before.  I  remember  she  and  her  parents 
did  go  down  by  the  railway  to  St.  Nazaire  when  they 
heard  the  boat  had  come ;  and  a  week  or  two  after  I  did 
see  Babiche,  that  is  Isabella,  you  know,  and  oh,  how- 
proud  and  happy  she  was.  And  they  are  married,  and 
live  at  Paimbceuf,  just  across  the  river;  and  Babiche  is 
as'happy  as  she  can  be,  but  then,"  added  Coquette,  wist 
fully,  "  the  young  gentleman  was  very  good-looking. " 

They  were  interrupted  by  a  loud  "  bang  !  "  at  the  bow. 
The  Whaup  had  fired  at  some  divers  which  were  some 
distance  off  on  the  water;  but  they  "ducked  the  flash," 
and  Coquette  was  not  enriched  with  any  of  their  plumage. 
Then  she  resumed  : — 

"  What  I  do  think  very  good  is  this,"  said  Coquette  : 
"  when  your  parents  speak  of  a  marriage,  and  it  is  left 
fixed,  so  that,  if  they  die,  and  you  are  left  alone,  and  you 
have  no  friends,  there  is  one  person  who  comes  to  you 
and  says,  '  Now  I  will  take  care  of  you.'  And  the  same 
it  is  if  you  have  got  into  trouble,  suppose  that  you  did 
become  miserable  through  making  an  attachment  for  some 
one  who  does  not  care  for  you,  there  is  always  this  good 
friend  who  likes  you,  and  you  can  marry,  and  forget  all 
that  is  past,  and  be  like  other  people  for  the  rest  of  your 
life." 

Lady  Drum  could  scarcely  believe  her  ears.  Had 
she  been  called  upon  to  argue  on  the  usual  side,  she 
could  have  repeated  those  admirably  wise  maxims  which 
elderly  ladies  have  at  their  command  (and  which  they 
never  thought  of  obeying  in  their  youth) ;  but  surely 
things  were  ordered  differently  in  France,  when  this 
young  creature,  whose  soft  dark  eyes  were  apparently 
made  to  steal  men's  hearts  away,  could  be  found  gravely 
arguing  a  business-like  view  of  love  affairs  which  even 
a  shrewd  and  able  Scotch-woman  would  have  scrupled  to 
advance. 

"  You  mean,"  said  Lady  Drum,  "  that  French  girls 
like  their  parents  to  choose  a  husband,  so  that  if  they 
have  an  unfortunate  love  affair,  they  can  still  fall  back  on 
this  substitute  ? " 

"  Oh,   no,"   said   Coquette  ;    "  you  do  say   things 


!3o  *  DAUGHTER  OF  HETfT. 

harshly.  But  who  knows  what  might  happen  ?  and  if 
your  old  fianct  is  still  faithful,  and  would  like  to  marry, 
you  make  him  happy,  do  you  not  ?  " 

"  And  is  that  the  role  you  have  sketched  out  for  your 
good-natured  cousin  ? "  asked  Lady  Drum,  rather  vexed 
with  this  plain  enunciation  of  a  theory  which,  although 
it  was  based  upon  filial  submission,  seemed  to  her  to  have 
dangerous  elements  in  it. 

"  Ah,  no,"  said  Coquette,  gravely.  "  I  hope  I  shall 
never  have  to  go  to  him  and  say  that  I  am  willing  to  be- 
come his  wife  only  because  I  am  miserable  and  unhappy. 
He  deserves  something  better  than  that,  does  he  not  ?  " 

"  And  so  do  you,"  said  Lady  Drum,  in  kindly  fashion. 
"  You  must  not  go  anticipating  misfortune  for  yourself 
in  that  way.  You  must  forget  the  notions  these  French 
people  put  into  your  head.  You  will  take  to  our  simple 
Scotch  habits,  and  you  will  marry  the  man  you  love  best, 
and  not  any  substitute  at  anybody's  bidding.  A  pleas- 
ant courtship,  a  happy  marriage,  and  an  even,  comfort- 
able, respectable  life,  that  is  the  custom  here." 

Indeed,  Lady  Drum's  notions  of  romance  had  been 
derived  chiefly  from  the  somewhat  easy  and  confident 
overtures  made  by  Sir  Peter  while  he  was  yet  a  young 
man,  and  had  a  waist.  The  gay  and  rotund  Sir  Peter  at  no 
time  would  have  looked  well  in  the  character  of  Man, 
fred  ;  and  his  performance  on  a  guitar  under  his  mis- 
tress's window  would  have  been  but  indifferent.  Lady 
Drum  knew  she  was  as  happy  as  most  married  women, 
and  hoped  that  these  dangerous  French  ideas  about  wild 
love  affairs  being  condoned  by  an  after  marriage  with  a 
substitute  chosen  by  relatives  would  not  be  translated 
into  the  uncongenial  and  highly  matter-of-fact  atmos- 
phere of  Western  Scotland. 

"  I  thought,"  said  Coquette,  "  that  the  Scotch  people 
were  very  hard  in  their  obedience  to  duty,  and  against 
pleasure  and  comfort.  Then  I  said  to  myself,  '  Alas  !  I 
shall  never  become  Scotch.'  But  now  I  do  think  on  one 
point  I  am  more  dutiful  than  you.  I  would  marry  any- 
body that  my  uncle  and  all  of  you  considered  I  ought  to 
marry." 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HE  TIT. 


'J7 


"  And  make  love  to  somebody  else,  as  is  the  fashion 
in  France  !  "  said  Lady  Drum,  with  a  touch  of  anger. 

"  It  is  no  such  fashion  in  France,"  said  Coquette. 
"  It  is  only  that  the  Scotch  are  ignorant  of  all  people  but 
themselves,  and  think  nobody  so  good  as  themselves, 
and  are  suspicious." 

Lady  Drum's  anger  broke  into  a  smile  at  the  pretty 
vehemence  with  which  Coquette  fought  for  her  country- 
women; and  at  this  moment  Lord  Earlshope  came  on 
deck  and  asked  what  was  the  matter  in  dispute.  Co- 
quette caught  Lady  Drum's  hand,  and  pressed  it.  The 
old  Scotchwoman  looked  at  the  girl,  and  saw  that  she 
was  quite  pale,  a  circumstance  that  puzzled  her  not  a 
little  in  after  moments  of  reflection. 

"  Well,"  said  Lady  Drum,  obeying  Coquette's  un- 
spoken entreaty,  "  we  were  talking  about — about  French 
schools  for  the  most  part." 

Further  inquiry  was  rendered  impossible,  for  at  this 
moment  the  yacht  was  running  into  the  harbor  of  Ardris- 
haig,  and  there  was  a  good  deal  of  bustle  on  board.  The 
Whaup  came  aft  also,  taking  the  cartridges  out  of  his 
gun,  and  began  to  make  vague  suggestions  about  lunch. 
Finally,  it  was  resolved  that,  so  soon  as  Mr.  Cassilis 
could  be  prevailed  on  to  remove  his  books  and  writing 
materials  from  the  table  of  the  saloon,  they  should  go 
down  to  have  that  meal  which  was  troubling  the  mind  of 
the  Whaup,  and  so  escape  the  tedium  of  the  preparations 
necessary  for  going  through  the  canal. 

Why  was  Coquette  so  silent  and  distiaite  when,  after 
a  long  and  solemn  grace  from  the  Minister,  they  began 
the  French-looking  repast  which  had  been  served  for 
them  ? 

"  You  are  still  thinking  of  the  pension,  are  you  not, 
Miss  Cassilis  ? "  said  Lord  Earlshope.  "  You  should 
give  us  some  initiation  into  the  mysteries  of  so  sacred  a 
place.  Was  there  anything  romantic  about  it  ?  " 

"  Our  pension  was  full  of  mystery  and  romance," 
said  Coquette,  brightening  up,  "  because  of  two  German 
young  ladies  who  were  there.  They  introduced,  what 
shall  I  call  it  ? — exaltation.  Do  you  know  what  it  is  ? 


138  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HE  TIL 

When  one  girl  makes  another  exaltee,  because  of  her 
goodness  or  her  beauty,  and  worships  her,  and  kisses 
her  dress  when  she  passes  her,  and  serves  her  in  all 
things,  yet  dare  not  speak  to  her  ?  And  the  girl  who  is 
cxaltee,  she  must  be  proud  and  cold,  and  show  scorn 
for  her  attendant,  even  although  she  has  been  her  friend 
It  was  these  German  young  ladies  from  the  Bohemian- 
Wald  who  introduced  it,  and  they  were  tall  and  dark, 
and  very  beautiful,  and  many  would  have  wished  to  make 
them  exaltees  ;  but  they  were  always  the  first  to  seek 
out  some  one  whom  they  admired  very  much,  and  no  one 
was  so  humble  and  obedient  as  they  were.  All  the 
pension  was  filled  with  it,  it  was  a  religion,  an  enthusi- 
asm, and  you  would  see  girls  crying  and  kneeling  on  the 
floor,  to  show  their  love  and  admiration  for  their  friend." 

"  /vnd  you,  were  you  ever  exaltee  ?  "  asked  Lord  Earls- 
hope. 

"  No,"  said  Coquette,  with  a  little  shrug,  "  One  or 
two  of  my  friends  did  wish  to  make  me  exaltee,  but  I 
did  laugh  at  them,  and  they  were  angry.  I  did  not 
wish  to  be  cruel  to  my  friends.  I  did  prefer  to  go  about 
and  be  friends  with  everybody  in  the  middle  of  so  much 
distraction." 

"  And  did  you  ever  exalt  anybody?" 

"  No,  it  was  too  troublesome,"  said  Coquette.  At 
which  Lady  Drum  smiled. 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  observed  the  Whaup,  coolly,  "  that 
it  was  a  clever  device  to  let  a  lot  of  girls  make  love  to 
each  other,  for  want  of  anybody  else.  It  was  keeping 
their  hand  in,  as  it  were." 

"  It  is  a  pity  you  were  not  there,"  said  Coquette, 
graciously.  "  We  should  have  been  charmed  to  make 
you  exalt •&." 

"  Arid  do  you  think  I'd  have  treated  any  of  you  with 
scorn  ?  "  said  the  Whaup,  with  a  grin,  and  quite  ignor- 
ing Coquette's  retort.  "  No.  Far  from  it.  I  should 
have " 

The  Whaup  glanced  at  his  father,  and  paused,  in- 
deed, his  father  was  calmly  regarding  him. 

"  You  would  have  gone  from  one  to  the  other,"  said 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

Lord  Earlshope,  gravely,  "  and  persuaded  her  that  she 
was  the  victim  of  a  hallucination." 

"  In  worshipping  me  ?  "  said  the  Whaup.  "  Well, 
now,  I  call  that  a  very  good  bit  of  sarcasm.  There  is 
no  spite  in  it,  as  in  women's  sarcasm,  but  a  clean,  sharp 
sword-thrust,  straight  from  the  shoulder,  skewering  you 
as  if  you  were  an  eel,  and  as  if  you  had  nothing  to  do 
but  wriggle." 

"  Thomas,"  said  the  Minister,  severely,  "  you  are  not 
accustomed  to  take  so  much  claret." 

"  That,  sir,"  replied  the  Whaup,  with  perfect  sang 
froid,  "  is  why  I  am  helping  myself  so  liberally  at  pres- 
ent, with  Lord  Earlshope's  kind  permission." 

Lady  Drum  shook  her  head  ;  but  Coquette 
laughed  in  her  low,  quiet  fashion  ;  and  the  Whaup  famil- 
iarly nodded  to  Lord  Earlshope,  as  much  as  to  say, 
"  Gave  it  to  the  old  boy  that  time." 

Then,  having  fetched  hats  and  shawls  from  their  re- 
spective state-rooms,  they  went  above  and  got  on  shore, 
setting  out  to  walk  along  the  banks  of  the  Crinan  until 
the  Caroline  should  get  clear  of  the  locks. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

LETTERS  FORM  AIRLIE. 

"  OH,"  said  Coquette,  as  they  walked  along  the  wind- 
ing path,  with  the  beautiful  scenery  of  the  district  con- 
tinually opening  up  before  them,  "  I  did  get  two  letters 
for  you,  uncle,  at  Tarbert,  and  forgot  all  about  them. 
Here  they  are  ;  shall  I  read  them  ? " 

The  two  letters  which  she  produced  from  her  pocket 
had  the  Airlie  stamp  on  them  ;  and  Mr.  Cassilis  at  once 
bade  her  do  as  she  pleased.  So  she  broke  the  seal  of  the 
first,  and  began  to  read  aloud : — 

"  *  Honored  Sir  and  master  in  the  Lord :  I  tak  up  my 


l  ;o  A  LAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

pen  to  let  you  know  that  I  have  been ' — what  is  this?" 
said  Coquette. 

The  Minister  took  it  from  her,  and  continued  him- 
self :— 

" — that  I  have  been  stung.  Atweel  I  wat  no  man 
ever  heard  me  complain  unnecessary-wise  about  my 
poseetion  in  life,  which  I  accept  with  gratitude  and 
humeelity  from  the  Giver  of  all  Good,  to  wit,  the  Dis- 
penser of  all  Mercies  at  present  and  to  come  ;  but  I 
maun  tak  the  leeberty  o'  saying,  honored  Sir,  that  I  can- 
not bide  in  this  house  any  langer  to  be  treated  worse 
than  the  beast  that  perisheth.  From  the  fingers  to  the 
elbows,  and  my  face  and  neck  likewise,  and  I  covered 
wi'  the  venomous  stings  o'  bees,  and  do  suffer  a  pain 
grievous,  and  like  unto  the  plagues  which  were  put  on 
the  people  ot  Egypt  for  their  sins.  Honored  Sir,  I  canna 
tear  wi'  they  callants  any  longer,  as  I  chanced  upon  one 
o*  them  laughing  like  to  split,  and  am  aware  it  was  a 
skeem  to  inflict  this  wrong  and  injury  upon  me,  which 
I  howp  will  cause  you  to  inquire  into,  and  begging  the 
favor  of  a  reply  to  say  when  ye  are  coming  back,  an  I 
what  sore  punishment  will  be  meeted  out  to  them  tha . 
richly  deserve  the  same,  I  am,  your  humble  and  obedient 
servant  in  the  Lord, 

"  ANDREW  BOGUE.  ' 

"Can  it  be,"  said  the  Minister,  when  he  had  read 
this  letter  aloud,  "can  it  be  that  those  mischievous  boys 
have  conspired  to  set  a  lot  of  bees  to  sting  him  ? " 

Coquette  looked  somewhat  frightened,but  the  Whaup 
observed,  cheerfully, — 

"  Indeed,  sir,  those  brothers  of  mine  are  fearful.  I 
have  done  my  best  with  them  to  keep  them  out  of  mis- 
chief ;  but  it  is  no  use.  And  to  go  and  set  a  bees'  bike 
at  an  aukl  man — !  " 

The  Whaup  shook  his  head  disconsolately.  His 
brothers  were  incorrigible,  even  he  had  been  compelled 
to  desist  from  his  efforts  to  improve  them. 

"  Do  you  hear  him  ? "  said  Coquette,  in  a  low  voice, 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HE  TIL 


141 


to  Lord  Earlshope.  "  And  it  was  he  himself  who  did 
plan  all  that  about  the  bees,  and  got  them,  and  put 
them  in  a  bag." 

"  And  then,"  said  Lord  Earlshope,  aloud,  to  the 
Whaup,  "  the  worst  of  it  is  that  they  go  and  blame  you 
for  what  they  do  themselves;  so  that  the  whole  district 
has  got  to  dread  you,  whereas  you  have  been  trying  to 
put  down  these  pranks." 

The  Whaup  turned  towards  Lord  Earlshope,  and 
slowly  winked  one  of  his  eyes.  By  this  time  the  Minis- 
ter had  opened  the  other  letter,  and  was  perusing  it  in 
silence.  It  ran  as  follows  : — 

"  Dear  and  Reverend  Sir  :  It  behooves  me  to  accom- 
plish, or,  in  other  words,  to  fulfil  the  promise  which  I, 
as  an.  elder  in  your  church,  made  to  you,  on  your  setting 
forth,  to  make  you  acquaint,  or  familiarize  you  with,  the 
events  and  occurrences,  the  state  of  feeling,  and  general 
condition  of  this  parish.  Towards  yourself,  their  spirit- 
ual governor,  leader,  and  guide,  the  people  do  show 
themselves  most  loyal  and  friendly,  hoping  you  will  con- 
tinue  your  voyages  abroad  to  the  benefiting  of  your 
health,  and  that  you  may  be  saved  from  the  perils  of 
the  waters,  or,  as  I  might  have  said,  from  the  dangers 
that  encompass  them  who  go  down  to  the  sea  in  ships. 
As  for  the  young  man  who  is  to  take  your  pulpit,  God 
willing,  next  Sabbath,  report  speaks  well  of  his  forbears; 
but  divers  persons  who  have  heard  him  in  Arbroath, 
Greennock,  and  elsewhere,  do  fear  that  he  is  not  severe 
enough  in  defining  the  lines  and  limits  of  doctrine,  hold- 
ing rather  to  the  admonitory  side,  which  does  not  give 
his  hearers  sufficient  chance,  or  opportunity,  to  use  a 
less  pagan  word,  to  get  at  his  own  standpoint,  which  is 
a  grave,  or,  it  might  be  said  with  safety,  a  serious  matter. 
For,  whereas  those  ministers  who  have  been  long  with 
us,  and  who  have  given  proofs  of  their  doctrinal  sound- 
ness, may  be  permitted  to  deal  more  with  reproof  and 
exhortation,  it  is  for  the  younger  generation  of  preachers 
to  declare  themselves  clearly  and  sharply,  that  the  church 
universal  may  not  be  ensnared  ami  entrapped  in  the 


I42  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HE  TIL 

dark,  there  being,  I  grieve  to  hear,  a  dangerous  leaven 
of  looseness  in  the  colleges  and  other  places  where 
young  men  congregate,  or,  as  I  might  say,  come  to- 
gether. The  only  news  of  importance,  besides  this 
subject,  which  I  have  to  communicate,  is  that  Pensioner 
Lamont  did  once  more,  on  the  night  of  Tuesday,  be- 
come most  abnormal  drunk,  and  did  dance  and  play  his 
fiddle  in  an  uproarious  and  godless  manner  in  the  house 
of  Mrs.  Pettigrew  ;  and  likewise  that  Lauchie,  who  is 
vu.garly  called  Field  Lauchie,  Macin  tyre's  wife's  bairn 
has  been  visited  with  the  rash,  which  I  hope  will  be 
taken  as  a  sign  of  the  warning  finger  of  Providence, 
and  cause  the  said  Lauchie  to  give  over,  or,  as  I  may 
say,  abandon,  his  abominable  and  reckless  conduct  of 
walking  to  the  town  of  Ardrossan  every  Sabbath  day, 
and  remaining  there  until  the  evening,  I  fear  in  no  good 
company.  This,  dear  and  reverend  Sir,  from  yours  to 
command,  u -^XEAS  GILLKSPIK." 

"  Good  news  from  Airlie  ? "  asked  Lady  Drum. 

"  Yes — in  a  manner,  yes,"  replied  the  Minister,  with 
dreamy  eyes.  It  was  a  new  thing  for  him  to  hear  only 
the  distant  echo  of  his  parish. 

"  Your  boys  seem  to  want  their  elder  brother  to  con- 
trol them  ?  "  continued  Lady  Drum. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  Minister.  "  He  prevails  on  them  to 
leave  the  Manse  quiet  when  he  is  there,  though  it  may 
be  only  to  lead  them  into  greater  mischief  elsewhere. 
But  they  will  have  to  look  after  themselves  now  for  the 
rest  of  the  autumn  and  winter." 

"  Why  ? " 

"  Because  Tom  is  returning  to  his  studies  at  Glas- 
gow," observed  the  Minister. 

Coquette  had  been  standing  to  watch  some  water-hens 
which,  on  the  opposite  bank,  were  scrambling  about  in 
the  rushes,  and  she  came  up  only  in  time  to  hear  these 
last  words. 

"  You  are  going  to  Glasgow  ? "  she  said  to  the  Whaup. 

"  Yes,"  he  replied,  with  some  gravity.  "  I  mean  to 
work  hard  this  winter." 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  JIETlf.  143 

"  And  you  will  not  be  at  Airlie  all  the  time  ? " 
"  Does  that  distress  you  ? "  he  asked. 
"  Nobody  but  Leesiebess  and  her  husband,"  said  Co 
quette,  wistfully.     "  It  will  not  be  pleasurable,  the  Manse, 
in  the  dark  time  of  the  winter,  with  the  cold  of  the  hiH. 
But  I  am  glad  you  do  go.     You  will  work  hard  ;  you 
will  forget  your  games  of  mischief  ;  you  will  come  back 
more  like  a  man  ;  and  when  you  tell  me  you  have  studied 
n-cll,  and  have  got — what  is  it  called?  your  certification, 
J  will  come  out  to  meet  you  at  the  Manse,  and  I  will  have 
a  wreath   of  laurel  leaves  for  you,  and  you  will  be  the 
great  hero  of  the  hour." 

"  It  is  something  to  look  forward  to,"  said  the  Whaup, 
almost  sadly.  "  And  when  I  come  back,  will  you  be  just 
the  same  Coquette  ?  as  quiet  and  happy  and  pretty  as 
you  always  are  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know  that  I  am  quiet  or  happy  or  pretty, 
more  than  any  one  else,"  said  Coquette ;  "  but  I  hope  I 
shall  always  be  the  same  to  you,  if  you  come  back  in  one 
year — two  years — ten  years." 

The  Whaup  did  not  reply  to  that,  but  he  said  to  him- 
self :  If  she  would  only  wait  tivo  years  !     In  two  years 
time  I  ivould  Jiave  worked  to  some  purpose,  and  1  would 
come  home  and  ask  Jtcr  to  marry  me" 

All  the  rest  of  their  walk  along  the  pretty  and  pic- 
turesque bank  he  was  restless  and  impatient  in  manner, 
speaking  to  nobody,  thinking  much.  He  cut  with  his 
stick  at  the  rushes  in  the  water  or  at  the  twigs  of  the 
hedge,  as  if  they  were  the  obstacles  that  lay  in  his  way 
towards  the  beautiful  goal  he  was  dreaming  of.  At  last 
he  got  into  the  yacht  again  and  went  below.  When  the 
others  followed,  some  time  after,  they  found  him  busy 
with  his  books 

Coquette  went  to  him  and  said, — 
"  Why  do  you  read  ?     Have  I  offended  you  ?    Are 
you  angry  with  me  ?  " 

"  No,  no,"  he  said,  rising  and  going  away  ;  "you  are 
a  deal  too  kind  towards  me,  and  towards  all  those  people 
who  don't  understand  how  good  you  are." 

Coquette   stood  by  in  blank  astonishment ;  she  let 


144 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETtf. 


him  pass  her,  and  go  up  on  deck  without  uttering  a  word. 

By  this  time  the  Caroline  was  lying  at  anchor  in  Loch 
Crinan,  and  the  afternoon  was  drawing  on  apace.  The 
day  had  dulled  somewhat,  and  far  out  among  the  western 
isles  that  lay  along  the  horizon  there  was  a  faint  still 
mist  that  made  them  shadowy  and  vague.  Nevertheless 
the  Whaup  would  have  the  skipper  to  give  him  the  pin- 
nace for  a  run  out  in  quest  of  the  guillemot  plumage 
that  Coquette  had  desired  ;  and  when,  indeed,  that  young 
lady  appeared  on  deck,  she  beheld  the  tiny  boat,  with  its 
spritsail  catching  a  light  breeze,  running  far  out  beyond 
the  sharp  island  rocks  that  crowd  the  entrance  to  the 
natural  harbor. 

"  It  is  so  small  a  boat  to  go  out  to  sea,"  she  said  to 
Lord  Earlshope,  who  was  following  the  pinnace  with  his 
glass. 

Meanwhile  the  Whaup  had  stationed  himself  at  the 
prow  of  the  small  craft,  steadying  himself  with  his  gun 
as  she  began  to  dip  to  the  waves ;  while  all  in  front  and 
around  there  opened  out  the  great  panorama  of  lochs 
and  islands,  between  Luingand  Scarba  on  the  north,  and 
the  three  dusky  peaks  of  Jura  in  the  south.  The  gloomy 
Sound  of  Corrievreckan  was  steeped  in  mist,  and  Dubh- 
chamus  Point  was  scarcely  visible ;  but  nearer  at  hand, 
in  the  middle  of  the  gray  and  desolate  sea,  lay  Maoile 
Rock  and  Ris  an  Valle,  with  Ruisker  and  the  Ledge, 
apparently  under  the  shadow  of  the  Paps.  The  bright 
little  boat,  despite  her  ballast  and  her  cargo,  went  lightly 
as  a  feather  over  the  waves  ;  and  the  Whaup,  whose  head 
was  far  too  clear  to  grow  giddy  with  the  heave  of  the  bay, 
kept  his  eyes  alert  There  were  plenty  of  birds  about, 
the  heron  calling  from  out  of  the  twilight  that  hung  over 
the  distant  rocks,  but  in  vain  he  scanned  the  great  heav- 
ing plain  of  gray  waves  for  the  special  object  of  his  quest. 
At  last,  however,  they  heard  the  cry  of  the  birds  down 
towards  the  south,  and  thither  the  small  boat  was  directed. 
The  sound  came  nearer  and  nearer,  apparently  there 
were  dozens  or  hundreds  of  them  all  about,  yet  nofeather 
of  one  of  them  could  be  seen.  Then  there  was  a  swift 
lustle  out  beyond  the  boat,  a  dark  moving  line,  rapidly 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HE  TIL 


'45 


crossing  the  waves,  and  the  pink  flame  leaped  from  the 
two  barrels  of  the  Whaup's  gun.  The  pinnace  was  put 
about,  and  run  towards  a  certain  dark  speck  that  was 
seen  floating  on  the  waves ;  while  at  the  same  moment 
over  all  the  west  there  broke  a  great  and  sudden  fire  of 
yellow,  streaming  down  from  the  riven  clouds  upon  the 
dusky  gray  of  the  sea.  In  this  wild  light  the  islands 
grew  both  dark  and  distant ;  and  near  at  hand  there  was 
a  glare  on  the  water  that  dazzled  the  eyes  and  made  all 
things  look  fantastic  and  strange.  It  lasted  but  for  a 
moment.  The  clouds  slowly  closed  again,  the  west  grew 
gray  and  cold,  and  over  all  the  sea  there  fell  the  leaden- 
hued  twilight  again,  while  the  bow  of  the  boat,  going 
this  way  and  that  in  search  of  the  dead  bird,  seemed  to 
move  forward  into  the  waste  of  waters  like  the  nose  of  a 
retriever. 

They  picked  up  the  bird  ;  there  was  but  one.  The 
Whaup  was  not  satisfied.  They  could  still  hear  the 
distant  calling,  and  so  they  stood  out  a  bit  farther  to  sea, 
none  of  them,  perhaps,  noticing  how  rapidly  the  dark- 
ness was  descending. 

"  There  is  a  breeze  coming,"  said  the  man  at  the 
tiller,  looking  far  down  to  the  southwest. 

TheWhaup  saw  nothing  but  a  strangely  black  line  along 
the  misty  horizon,  a  mere  speck  of  deep  purple.  He  was 
unwilling  to  go  back  then.  Besides,  both  sea  and  sky 
were  sufficiently  calm  ;  the  coming  Lreeze  would  just 
suffice  to  run  them  back  to  Loch  Crina.i. 

"  We  had  better  make  for  the  yacht,  sir,"  said  the 
man  nearest  to  him.  "  It  looks  bad  down  there." 

Unwilling  as  he  was  to  give  up,  the  Whaup  perceived 
that  the  thin  line  of  black  had  become  a  broader  band. 
He  was  still  looking  far  over  the  mystic  plain  of  the 
waves  towards  that  lurid  streak,  when  he  seemed  to 
hear  a  strange  sound  in  the  ah.  It  was  not  a  distant 
sound,  but  apparently  a  muttering  as  of  voices  all  around 
and  in  front,  hoarse  and  low  and  ominous.  And  while 
he  still  stood  watching,  with  a  curiosity  which  dulled  all 
sense  of  fear,  the  slow  widening  of  the  blackness  across 
the  sea,  a  puff  of  wind  smote  his  cheek,  and  brought 


146  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

the  message  that  those  troubled  voices  of  the  waves 
were  deepening  into  a  rpar.  Near  the  boat  the  sea  was 
calm,  and  the  darkening  sky  was  quite  still ;  but  it 
seemed  as  though  a  great  circle  were  enclosing  them, 
and  that  the  advancing  line  of  storm  could  be  heard  rag- 
ing in  the  darkness  without  being  itself  visible.  In  the 
intense  stillness  that  reigned  around  them,  this  great, 
hoarse,  deepening  tumult  of  sounds  seemed  to  find  a 
strange  echo  ;  and  then,  while  the  men  were  getting 
the  boat  put  about  and  made  ready  for  the  squall,  the 
water  in  the  immediate  neighborhood  became  power- 
fully agitated,  a  hissing  of  breaking  waves  was  all 
around,  and  the  first  blow  of  the  wind  struck  the  boat 
as  if  with  a  hammer. 

By  this  time  the  sail  had  been  brailed  up,  and  the 
tempest  that  now  came  roaring  along  the  black  surface 
of  the  sea  smote  nothing  but  spars  and  oars  as  it  hur- 
ried the  pinnace  along  with  it.  Running  before  the 
wind,  and  plunging  into  the  great  hollows  of  the  waves 
that  seemed  to  be  racing  towards  the  shore,  the  light 
boat  shipped  but  little  water,  except  when  a  gust  of 
wind  drove  the  crest  of  a  breaking  wave  across  the 
rowers  ;  but  there  came  torrents  of  rain  sweeping  along 
with  the  gale,  and  presently  they  found  themselves  shut 
out  from  sight  of  land  by  the  driving  clouds.  The 
Whaup  still  kept  outlook  at  the  bow,  but  he  had  long 
ago  laid  by  his  gun. 

It  was  now  a  question  of  making  the  entrance  to  the 
Loch  without  running  on  the  rocks  with  which  it  was 
studded  ;  and  as  the  boat  rose  and  sank  with  the  waves, 
and  reeled  and  staggered  under  the  tearing  wind,  the 
Whaup,  dashing  back  the  salt  water  from  his  eyes  and 
mouth,  and  holding  on  to  the  prow,  peered  into  the 
gloom  ahead,  and  was  near  shouting  joyously  aloud  from 
the  mere  excitement  and  madness  of  the  chase.  It  was 
a  race  with  the  waves,  and  the  pinnace  rolled  and  stag- 
gered down  in  a  drunken  fashion  into  hugh  black  depths, 
only  to  rise  clear  again  on  the  hissing  masses  of  foam  ; 
while  wind  and  water  alike,  the  black  and  riven  sky,  the 
plunging  and  foaming  sea,  and  the  great  roaring  gusts 


A  DA  UGHTER  OF  HE  TH.  I  .-j  7 

of  the  gale  that  came  tearing  up  from  the  south,  seemed 
sweeping  onward  for  those  dusky  and  jagged  rocks  which 
formed  the  nearest  line  of  land. 

Coquette  was  standing  on  deck,  her  one  small  hand 
clinging  to  the  cold  steel  shrouds,  while  her  face,  terror- 
stricken  and  anxious,  was  fixed  on  the  blackness  of  the 
storm  that  raged  outside  the  troubled  stillness  of  the 
harbor.  Lord  Earlshope  begged  her  to  go  below  from 
the  fierce  torrents  of  the  rain,  and  when  she  paid  no 
heed  to  him,  he  brought  a  heavy  mantle,  and  covered 
her  with  it  from  head  to  foot.  She  spoke  not  a  word  ; 
and  only  trembled  slightly  when  the  wind  came  in  with 
a  fierce  cry  from  that  angry  warring  of  the  elements 
that  was  going  on  beyond  the  islands. 

The  darkness  fell  fast,  and  yet  as  far  as  they  could 
see  there  was  no  speck  of  a  boat  coming  in  from  the  wild 
and  moving  waste  of  gray.  To  the  girl  standing  there 
and  gazing  out  it  seemed  that  the  horizon  of  the  other 
world,  that  mystic  margin  on  which,  in  calmer  moments, 
we  seem  to  see  the  phantoms  of  those  who  have  been 
taken  from  us  passing  in  a  mournful  procession,  speech- 
less and  cold-eyed,  giving  to  us  no  sign  of  recognition, 
had  come  close  and  near,  and  might  have  withdrawn  be- 
hind its  shadowy  folds  all  the  traces  of  life  which  the 
sea  held.  Could  it  be  that  the  black  pall  of  death  had 
fallen  just  beyond  those  gloomy  islands,  and  hidden  for- 
ever from  mortal  eyes  that  handful  of  anxious  men  who 
had  lately  been  struggling  towards  the  shore  ?  Was  the 
bright  young  life  that  she  had  grown  familiar  with,  and 
almost  learned  to  love,  now  snatched  away  without  one 
mute  pressure  of  the  hand  to  say  farewell  ?  She  stood 
there  as  if  in  a  dream,  and  the  things  that  passed  before 
her  eyes  had  become  spectral  and  ghastly.  She  scarcely 
knew  that  she  heard  voices.  She  clung  to  the  steel 
ropes,  and  there  was  something  like  a  faint  "  hurrah  !  " 
wafted  in  with  the  tumult  of  the  sea,  and  then  the  vision 
of  a  face  gleaming  red  and  joyous  with  the  salt  spray 
and  the  rain,  and  then  she  knew  that  she  was  sinking, 
with  a  sound  as  of  the  sea  closing  over  her  head. 


j43  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

COQUETTE    IS   TROUBLED. 

THE  gale  blew  hard  all  that  evening,  but  towards 
midnight  the  sky  cleared,  and  the  large  white  moon  rose 
wild  and  swift  into  the  luminous  violet  vault,  that  was 
still  crossed  by  ragged  streaks  of  gray  cloud  hurrying 
over  from  the  sea.  All  along  the  dark  islands  the 
mournful  wash  of  the  waves  could  be  heard  ;  and  here, 
in  the  quiet  of  the  bay,  the  wind  brought  a  fresh  and 
salt  flavor  with  it,  as  it  blew  in  gusts  about,  and  swept 
onward  to  stir  the  birches  and  brackens  of  the  hills.  The 
.  Whaup  sat  up  on  deck  with  Lord  Earlshope,  who  was 
smoking,  and  spoke  in  whispers,  for  all  was  quiet  below. 

"  You  will  get  up  to  Oban  to-morrow  ?  "  asked  the 
Whaup,  after  some  profound  meditation. 

"  I  hope  so,"  said  Lord  Earlshope. 

"I  shall  leave  you  then  and  go  back  by  coach  or 
steamer." 

"  Has  your  adventure,  of  this  afternoon  frightened 
you  ? " 

"  Faith,  no  !  My  only  fright  was  when  my  cousin 
fainted  ;  and  I  wished,  when  I  saw  that,  that  every  guil- 
lemot that  ever  lived  was  at  the  bottom  of  the  sea.  But 
I  am  getting  sick  of  idleness." 

Lord  Earlshope  laughed. 

"  You  may  laugh,"  said  the  Whaup,  "but  it  is  true. 
You  have  earned  the  right  to  be  idle,  because  you  are  a 
man.  For  a  young  fellow  like  me,  with  all  the  world 
before  him,  it  is  miserable  to  be  dawdling  away  time, 
you  know." 

"I  quite  agree  with  you,"  said  his  companion  ;  "  but 
it  seems  to  me  this  discovery  has  come  to  you  rathei 
suddenly." 

"  All  the  more  reason/'  returned  the  Whaup,  with 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 


149 


confidence,  "  that  it  should  be  acted  upon  at  once.  I  am 
going  to  Glasgow.  I  shall  live  in  lodgings  with  some 
fellows  I  know,  and  work  up  my  studies  for  the  next 
session.  There  is  a  tremendous  deal  of  work  in  me,  al- 
though you  might  not  think  it,  and  I  may  not  see  Airlie 
for  two  years." 

"  Why  so  ?  " 

"  Because  then  I  shall  be  nearer  twenty-one  than 
twenty." 

"  And  what  will  you  do  then  ?  " 

"  What  shall  I  do  then  ?  Who  knows  ? "  said  the 
Whaup,  absently. 

Next  morning  the  weather  was  fine,  and  the  wind  had 
calmed.  The  sea  was  of  a  troubled,  dark,  and  shining 
blue ;  and  the  far  hills  of  the  islands  were  of  a  soft  and 
velvet-like  brown,  with  here  and  there  a  tinge  of  red  or 
of  gray.  The  Caroline  was  soon  got  under  way,  and 
began  to  open  out  the  successive  headlands  and  bays  as 
she  stood  away  towards  the  north. 

Coquette  came  on  deck,  and  looked  out  on  the  sea 
with  an  involuntary  shudder.  Then  she  turned,  to  find 
the  Whaup  regarding  her  with  rather  a  serious  and 
thoughtful  look. 

"  Ah,  you  wicked  boy,  to  make  me  so  fearful  yester- 
day evening  !  "  she  said 

"  But  you  are  quite  well  this  morning  ? "  he  asked, 
anxiously. 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  am  quite  well,"  she  said  ;  and  the  bright- 
ness of  her  face  and  of  her  soft  dark  eyes  was  sufficient 
evidence. 

"  And  I  got  you  the  guillemot  after  all,"  said  the 
Whaup,  with  some  pride.  "  One  of  the  sailors  is  prepar- 
ing both  the  breast  and  the  pinions  for  you,  and  you  can 
wear  either  you  like." 

"  For  your  sake,  when  you  are  away  in  Glasgow,"  she 
said,  with  a  smile.  "  I  did  hear  what  you  said  last  night 
to  Lord  Earlshope.  I  could  not  sleep  with  thinking  of 
the  black  water,  and  the  wind,  and  the  cry  of  the  waves. 
And  will  you  go  away  from  us  now  altogether  ? " 

"  I  must  go  away  sooner  or  later,"  said  the  Whaup. 


150  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HE  TIL 

"  But  it  is  a  little  time  until  we  all  go  back.  Your 
father,  he  cannot  remain  long." 

"  But  I  have  become  restless,"  said  the  Whaup,  with 
some  impatience. 

"  And  you  are  anxious  to  go  away  ? "  said  Coquette. 
"  It  is  no  compliment  to  us  ;  but  no,  I  will  not  speak  like 
that  to  you.  I  do  think  you  are  right  to  go.  I  will  hear 
of  you  in  Glasgow  ;  I  will  think  of  you  every  day  ;  and 
you  will  work  hard,  just  as  if  I  could  see  you  and  praise 
you  for  doing  it.  Then,  you  know,  some  day  a  long  way 
off,  it  may  be  a  rainy  morning  at  Airlie,  or  perhaps  even 
a  bright  day,  and  we  shall  see  you  come  driving  up  in 
the  dog-cart " 

"  Just  as  you  came  driving  up  a  few  months  ago. 
Does  it  not  seen  a  long  time  since  then  ?  " 

"  Yes,  a  long  time,"  said  Coquette  ;  "  but  I  do  think 
this  is  the  best  part  of  it." 

The  attention  of  everybody  on  deck  was  at  this 
luoment  directed  to  the  strange  currents  through  which 
the  Caroline  had  now  to  force  herself,  long  stretches  and 
whirls  in  an  almost  smooth  sea,  with  here  and  there  a 
boiling-up  into  a  miniature  whirlpool  of  the  circling 
waters.  These  powerful  eddies  caught  the  bow  of  the 
boat,  and  swung  it  this  way  or  that  with  a  force  which 
threatened  to  jibe  the  sails ;  while  now  and  again  she 
would  come  to  a  dead  stop,  as  though  the  sea  were  of 
lead.  And  far  away  on  their  left,  between  the  misty 
hills  of  Jura  and  Scarba,  lay  the  treacherous  Corriev- 
reckan,  dreaded  of  fishermen,  whose  wild  legends  seem 
scarcely  in  consonance  with  the  apparent  quietude  of 
those  long  and  curling  tides.  But  here  at  hand  there 
was  sufficient  evidence  of  the  power  of  those  glassy 
swirls,  the  outline  of  which  was  marked  with  streaks  of 
foam.  Slowly  but  steadily  the  Caroline  made  head 
through  those  fierce  currents,  drawing  away  from  the  still 
breadth  of  Loch  Shuna,  and  getting  further  into  Scarba 
Sound,  with  the  desolate  island  of  Luing  on  her  right. 
How  strangely  still  lay  the  long,  lone  bays,  and  the  soli- 
tary stretches  of  shore  in  the  sunlight !  There  was  not 
even  a  fisherman's  boat  to  be  seen  along  those  bleak 


A  DA  UGHTER  OF  HE  TIL  1 5 1 

coasts,  that  seemed  to  have  grown  gray  and  mournful 
with  looking  out  on  the  sadness  of  the  sea.  There  was 
no  sign  of  life  abroad  but  the  hovering  in  mid-air  of  the 
white  gannet,  or  the  far  and  rapid  flight  of  a  string  of 
wild  ducks  sinking  down  towards  the  southern  horizon. 
But  as  they  drew  near  the  mouth  of  Scarba  Sound,  with 
the  great  stretch  of  Loch  Linnhe  opening  up  before 
them,  and  the  mighty  shoulders  of  the  Mull  mountains 
lying  faint  and  gray  in  the  northwest,  the  solitude  grew 
less  absolute.  Here  and  there  a  boat  became  visible. 
They  passed  the  Slate,  and  drew  near  the  quarries  of 
Easdale  ;  while  a  long  streak  of  smoke  beyond  told  them 
that  the  great  steamer  from  the  North  was  coming  down 
with  her  cargo  of  English  tourists  from  the  moors  and 
lojhs  of  Inverness. 

"  We  shall  get  the  waves  of  that  dreadful  steamer 
as  she  passes,"  said  Lady  Drum. 

"  Why,  you  don't  know  what  a  good  sailor  you  are," 
said  Lord  Earlshope.  "  We  had  bigger  waves  in  coming 
into  Lochfyhe,  and  you  were  quite  comfortable." 

"  To  tell  the  truth,  I  must  praise  the  Caroline  for 
being  the  most  humane  and  delightful  of  yachts,"  said 
Lady  Drum.  "  One  would  think,  to  judge  by  the  way 
in  which  she  avoids  those  frisky  and  unpleasant  tricks 
of  many  boats,  that  she  was  a  grave  and  elderly  person 
like  myself,  instead  of  being  a  young  thing  like  Miss 
Cassilis  here." 

"  I  see  a  very  good  opening  for  a  compliment,"ob- 
served  the  Whaup,  looking  from  Lord  Earlshope  to  his 
father,  but  neither  took  the  hint ;  and  so  the  Caroline 
sped  on  her  way,  and  the  great  steamer,  with  its  throb- 
bing paddles  and  its  volumes  of  smoke,  came  out  from 
Easdale  Bay  and  bore  down  upon  them. 

They  were  all  on  deck  when  the  steamer  passed ; 
and  doubtless  the  people  who  crowded  the  larger  vessel 
regarded  the  little  group  in  the  stern  of  the  graceful, 
white-sailed  yacht  as  sufficiently  picturesque,  the  tall  and 
gray-haired  lady,  who  had  her  hand  Hside  the  arm  of 
the  young  girl  ;  the  elderly  Minister,  looking  grave  and 
dignified ;  Lord  Earlshope,  seated  carelessly  on  one  of 


j  5  2  A  DA  UGHTER  OF  HE  TIL 

the  hatchways  ;  the  Whaup,  waving  a  handkerchief  in 
reply  to  more  than  one  signal  of  the  same  kind. 

*4  To-morrow  morning,"  said  the  Whaup  to  Lady 
Drum,  "  I  shall  be  on  board  that  steamer,  going  straight 
down  for  Crinan  ;  and  you — you  will  be  turning  towards 
Skye,  I  suppose,  or  Staff  a,  or  Lewis  ? " 

"  What  do  you  mean  ? "  said  his  father. 

"  Has  nobody  told  you  ?  I  am  going  back  to  Airlie 
to-morrow,  and  on  to  Glasgow,  to  prepare  for  the  classes. 
I  have  had  enough  idling." 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  it/'  said  the  Minister,  in  a  tone 
which  did  not  betray  any  strong  assurance  that  the 
Whaup  was  to  be  trusted  in  these  his  new  resolves. 

But  Coquette  believed  him.  All  the  rest  of  that 
day,  as  the  Caroline  glided  through  the  dark-blue  plain 
of  the  waves,  on  past  Ardencaple  and  Barnacaryn,  and 
the  steep  hills  above  Loch  Feochan,  until  she  had  got 
through  the  Sound  of  Kerrara,  and  was  nearing  the 
calm  expanse  of  Oban  Bay,  the  Whaup  perceived  that 
his  cousin  was  almost  elaborately  kind  and  attentive  to 
him,  and  far  more  serious  and  thoughtful  than  was  her 
wont.  He  himself  was  a  trifle  depressed.  Having  defi- 
nitely stated  his  intentions,  he  would  not  show  weak- 
ness at  the  last  moment,  and  draw  back  from  his  prom- 
ised word  ;  but  it  was  with  rather  a  heavy  heart  that  he 
went  below  to  gather  together  his  books  and  put  them 
in  order  for  the  last  time  on  board. 

"I  think  I  shall  sleep  to-night  on  shore," said  he, 
when  he  reappeared. 

u  Why  ?  "  asked  Coquette. 

"  Because  I  don't  wish  to  have  you  all  up  by  seven 
to-morrow  morning.  The  boat  goes  at  eight." 

"  And  must  we  not  see  you  off,  and  say  good-bye  ? " 

"  What's  the  use  ?  "  said  the  Whaup. 

Coquette  put  her  hand  on  his  arm,  and  said,  rathei 
shyly, — 

"  I  think  you  would  rather  come  with  us.  Why  not 
do  that  ?  It  is  very  sad  and  miserable  your  going  all 
away  b^.ck  by  yourself,  and  I  am  sorry  to  think  of  it, 


A  DA  UGHTER  OF  HE  TIL  1 5  3 

far  more  for  you  than  if  it  were  for  myself.     It  is  very 
hard  lines.'* 

The  Whaup  laughed  in  spite  of  his  wretchedness. 

"  I  told  you  ever  so  long  ago  not  to  say  that,"  he 
said,  "and  you  promised  not  to  forget.  Never  mind. 
It's  very  good  of  you  to  concern  yourself  about  me,  but 
I  mean  to  go  to-morrow  morning.  And  look  there  !  — 
there  is  Oban." 

"  I  do  hate  the  place  !  "  said  Coquette,  petulantly. 

She  would  scarcely  look  at  the  semicircle  of  white 
houses  stretching  around  the  blue  bay,  nor  yet  at  the  hills 
and  the  villas  upon  them,  nor  yet  at  the  brown  and  deso- 
late old  castle  built  high  on  the  rocks  beyond. 

"  It  is  a  town,"  she  said,  "  that  row  of  bare  and  ugly 
houses,  and  the  hotels  and  shops.  It  is  not  fit  for  these 
Highlands  mountains ;  it  shames  them  to  look  down  on 
it — it  is  so — so  dirty-white  and  shabby." 

"What  ails  ye  at  the  town  ?"  said  Lady  Drum,  who 
did  not  like  to  hear  her  favorite  Oban  disparaged. 

"  A  little  while  ago  you  would  have  found  Oban  quite 
a  grand  place,"  said  Lord  Earlshope,  "  quite  a  gay  and 
fashionable  place." 

"Fashionable  !"  said  Coquette,  with  that  slight  eleva- 
tion of  the  eyebrows  and  the  almost  imperceptible  shrug 
to  which  they  had  all  got  accustomed.  "  Fashionable  ? 
Perhaps.  It  is  a  good  promenade  before  the  grocers, 
shops,  and  do  the  ladies  who  make  the  fashions  live  in 
those  dirty-white  houses  ?  What  is  that  they  say  ?  Qui 
n'est  fas  difficile,  trouve  bientot  un  asile" 

"  You  know  the  other  French  proverb  ? "  said  Lord 
Earlshope,  "  Jeune  femme,  pain  tendre,  et  bois  vett, 
mettent  la  maison  en  desert" 

"That  is  possible,"  said  Coquette,  "but  it  is  not 
fashion.  You  should  see  Biarritz,  Lady  Drum,  with  its 
sands,  and  the  people,  and  the  music,  and  the  Bay  of 
Biscay,  and  the  Spanish  mountains  not  far.  Even  1 
think  our  little  Le  Croisic  better,  where  mamma  and  I 
lived  at  the  Etablissement.  But  as  for  this  town  here, 
if  it  is  more  pleasant-looking  than  Ardrossan,  I  will 
blow  me  tight !  " 


1 5 4  A  DAUG:I TER  OF  HE TH. 

The  Whaup  shrieked  with  laughter,  and  Coquette 
looked  puzzled,  knowing  she  had  made  some  dreadful 
blunder,  but  not  very  certain  what  it  was.  Lady  Drum 
rescued  her  from  confusion  by  carrying  her  off  to  dress 
for  dinner,  and  explained  to  her  in  their  common  state- 
room that  she  must  be  careful  not  to  repeat  colloquial- 
isms which  she  had  overheard  without  being  quite  sure 
of  their  propriety.  Indeed,  when  the  meaning  of  the 
phrase  was  explained  to  her,  she  laughed  as  much  as 
the  Whaup  had  done,  and  entered  the  saloon,  where  the 
gentlemen  were  waiting,  with  a  conscious  look  on  her 
face  which  considerably  heightened  its  color. 

"  It  was  you  to  blame,"  she  said  to  the  Whaup.  "  I 
did  often  hear  you  say  that." 

"  Propria  qua  maribus"  said  he,  and  they  sat  down 
to  dinner. 

It  was  felt  to  be  a  farewell  celebration.  The  Whaup 
looked  grave  and  determined,  as  if  he  feared  he  would 
be  moved  from  his  resolution.  Coquette  stole  furtive 
glances  at  him,  and  wondered  what  she  could  give  him 
to  take  with  him  as  a  keepsake.  The  Minister  fur- 
nished him  with  directions  about  certain  things  to  be 
done  at  Airlie  ;  Lady  Drum  made  him  promise  to  come 
and  see  her  when  she  went  to  Glasgow  ;  and  Lord 
Earlshope  persuaded  him  to  remain  on  board  that  night, 
and  go  ashore  in  the  morning. 

When  they  went  on  deck  after  dinner,  it  was  a  beau- 
tiful clear  night,  with  the  moonlight  throwing  a  great 
flood  of  silver  across  the  bay  from  over  the  dusky  island 
of  Kerrara.  The  windows  of  the  houses  on  shore  were 
burning  yellow  in  this  cold  white  radiance  ;  and  here  and 
there  in  the  bay  the  green  or  red  lights  of  a  dark-hulled 
boat  flickered  on  the  smooth  water  beneath.  Over  the 
town  the  great  shoulders  of  the  hills  were  touched  with 
a  pale  and  sombre  gray,  but  a  keener  light  shone  along 
the  white  fronts  of  the  houses  close  by  the  shore  ;  while 
nearer  at  hand  it  touched  the  masts  and  spars  of  the 
various  boats,  and  threw  black  shadows  on  the  white 
deck  of  the  Caroline  when  any  one  moved  across  the 
cold  steel-blue  glare. 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  IIETIf.  !^ 

"  Where  is  Miss  Cassilis  ?  "  said  Lady  Drum,  when 
she  had  taken  her  accustomed  seat. 

At  the  same  moment  they  heard  the  first  soft  notes 
of  the  harmonium,  and  presently  there  rose  into  the  still 
night  the  clear  and  sweet  and  melancholy  cadence  of  Men- 
delssohn's gondola  song.  The  empty  silence  of  the  bay 
seemed  to  grow  full  of  this  rich  and  harmonious  music, 
until  one  scarcely  knew  that  the  sounds  were  coming  from 
the  open  cabin  skylight  which  gleamed  an  oblong  patch 
of  yellow  fire  in  the  dusk.  The  night  seemed  to  be  as 
full  of  music  as  of  moonlight,  it  was  in  the  air  all  around, 
a  part  of  the  luminous  loveliness  of  the  sky,  and  scarcely 
to  be  distinguished  from  the  lapping  of  the  water  along 
the  side  of  the  boat.  Far  away  there  was  a  murmur  of 
the  sea  upon  the  shores  of  Kerrara ;  but  that,  too,  be- 
came part  of  the  sweet  and  distant  and  sad  music  that 
they  heard.  But  suddenly  she  changed  the  key,  and 
with  sharp  and  powerful  chords  struck  out  the  proud  and 
ringing  melody  of  "  Drumclog."  The  old  Scotch  psalm- 
tune  stirred  the  Whaup,  as  a  trumpet  might  stir  the 
heart  of  a  dragoon.  He  rose  to  his  feet,  and  drew  a 
long  breath,  as  if  the  plaintive  gondola-music  had  been 
stifling  him. 

"  What  a  grand  tune  that  '  Drumclog '  is,"  he  said. 
"  It  means  business.  I  dare  say  the  old  troopers  sang  it 
with  their  teeth  set  hard,  and  their  hand  on  their  musket- 
barrels.  But  did  you  ever  hear  it  played  like  that  ?  " 

"  It  is  wonderful,  wonderful !  "  said  the  Minister, 
and  his  sad  gray  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the  far  white  sea, 
and  the  shadows  of  the  lonely  island. 

You  should  have  seen  the  Whaup  the  next  morning, 
bustling  about  with  a  determined  air,  and  making  from 
time  to  time,  a  feeble  effort  to  whistle.  Coquette  had 
been  up  before  any  one  on  board,  and  now  sat,  mute 
and  pale,  watching  his  preparations.  Sometimes  she 
turned  to  look  towards  the  quay,  where  the  vessels  lay 
under  the  ruddy  and  misty  sunlight  of  the  autumn 
morning. 

Then  the  great  steamer  came  around  the  point.     The 


l  s  6  A  DA  UGHTER  OF  HE  TH. 

Whaup  jumped  into  the  pinnace,  after  having  shaken 
hands  with  everybody,  and  the  boat  was  pushed  off. 

4<  Stop  a  moment,"  said  Coquette,  "  I  do  wish  to  go 
with  you  to  the  steamer." 

So  she,  also,  got  into  the  small  boat ;  and  together 
they  went  in  to  the  quay,  and  got  ashore.  The  steamer 
arrived,  and  the  Whaup,  still  trying  at  times  to  whistle 
got  on  board.  The  first  bell  was  rung. 

"  Good-bye,"  said  Coquette,  holding  one  of  his  hands 
in  both  of  hers.  "  You  will  write  to  me  often,  often  ; 
and  when  I  go  back  to  Airlie  I  will  write  to  you  every 
week,  and  tell  you  what  is  going  on  with  all  the  people, 
even  with  Leesibess  also.  And  I  will  go  to  see  you  at 
Glasgow,  if  you  will  not  come  to  Airlie  before  you  have 
become  a  great  man." 

A  few  minutes  afterwards  the  Whaup  was  waving 
his  handkerchief  to  her  as  the  steamer  steamed  away 
down  by  Kerrara,  and  Coquette  stood  on  the  quay,  look- 
ing wistfully  after  the  boat,  even  until  the  trailing  cloud 
of  smoke  from  the  funnel  had  become  a  luminous  brown 
in  the  morning  sunlight. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

ON  THE  SEA-SHORE. 

"  I  WISH  to  speak  to  you  a  great  secret,"  said  Co- 
quette to  Lord  Earlshope  that  morning,  "  when  we  shall 
have  the  chance.  It  is  very  important." 

"  I  shall  remember  to  make  the  chance,"  said  he, 
"  especially  as  Lady  Drum  wants  to  go  round  and  see 
Dunstaffnage.  You  must  come  with  us." 

The  Minister  preferred  to  remain  in  the  yacht.  The 
fact  is,  he  was  composing  a  sermon  on  the  judgment  that 
befel  Jonah,  and  was  engaged  in  painting  a  picture  of 


A  DAIGIITER  OF  HE  TIL  !5y 

the  storm,  with  powerful  colors  borrowed  from  his  ex- 
periences in  Crinan  Bay.  He  was  very  busy  with  the 
task,  for  he  hoped  to  be  able  to  preach  the  sermon  next 
day,  being  Sunday,  to  the  small  congregation  on  board. 
So  it  was  that  the  others  started  without  him,  and  drove 
over  in  a  hired  trap  by  the  road  which  leads  past  the 
pretty  Lochaw.  In  time  they  arrived  at  Dunstaffnage, 
and  made  their  way  on  to  the  rocks  which  there  rise  over 
the  blue  sea,  and  look  across  to  the  far  mountains  of 
Lismore  and  Morven  and  Mull 

Lady  Drum  was  a  brisk  and  active  woman  for  her 
age,  but  she  did  not  care  to  exert  herself  unnecessarily. 
When  they  had  gone  up  and  looked  at  the  ruins  of  the 
old  castle,  when  they  had  passed  through  the  small  wood, 
and  reached  the  line  of  alternate  rock  and  beach  fronting 
the  sea,  she  placed  herself  upon  an  elevated  peak,  and 
allowed  the  young  folks  to  scramble  down  to  the  white 
shingle  below.  There  she  saw  them  both  sit  down  on 
the  beach,  Lord  Earlshope  beginning  to  pitch  pebbles 
carelessly  into  the  sea.  She  could  hear  the  murmur  of 
their  talk,  too,  but  could  not  distinguish  what  they  said. 
Apparently  there  was  nothing  very  important  engag- 
ing their  attention,  for  they  did  not  even  look  at  each 
other,  and  Lord  Earlshope  was  evidently  more  inter- 
ested in  trying  to  hit  apiece  of  seaweed  which  the  tide 
had  drifted  in  to  the  shore. 

"  My  secret  is  this."  said  Coquette.  "  Do  you  know 
that  papa  and  mamma  did  leave  me  a  good  deal  of 
money  ? " 

"  I  was  not  aware  of  it,"  said  Lord  Earlshope,  mak- 
ing another  effort  to  hit  the  sea-weed. 

"  Oh,  I  am  very  rich,  that  is  to  say,  not  what  you 
English  would  call  rich,  but  rich  in  my  country.  Yet  I 
cannot  use  the  money.  What  good  is  it  to  me  ?  Mamma 
gave  me  more  jewelry  than  I  need,  what  am  I  to  do  with 
my  money  ? " 

"  I  don't  know  much  about  ladies'  expenses,"  said 
Lord  Earlshope.  "  But  if  you  want  to  get  rid  of  this 
burden  of  wealth,  why  not  keep  a  yacht,  or  buy  a  theatre, 


158  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETII. 

"  No,  no,  no,"  she  said.  "  You  do  not  understand. 
I  mean  I  have  nothing  to  do  with  my  money  for  myself. 
Now,  here  is  my  cousin  who  goes  to  Glasgow  to  live  by 
himself  in  lodgings,  perhaps  not  very  pleasant.  His  fa- 
ther is  not  rich.  He  must  work  hard  ;  and  your  north- 
ern winters  are  so  cold.  Bien  \  How  I  am  to  give 
him  money  ? " 

"That  is  the  problem,  is  it  ?  "  said  Lord  Earlshope. 
"  I  might  have  guessed  you  did  not  wish  to  spend  the 
money  on  yourself.  Well,  I  don't  know.  I  give  it  up. 
If  he  were  a  boy,  you  see,  you  might  send  him  a  £  20 
note  now  and  again,  which  most  of  us  have  found  very 
acceptable  at  college.  But  you  would  insult  your  cousin 
if  you  sent  him  money  bluntly  like  that.  Besides,  you 
would  destroy  the  picturesqueness  of  his  position.  Our 
Scotch  colleges  are  sacred  to  the  poor  student  ;  they  are 
not  seminaries  for  the  teaching  of  extravagance  and 
good  manners,  like  the  English  universities.'' 

"  Then  you  cannot  help  me  ? "  said  Coquette. 

"  Oh,  there  are  a  hundred  indirect  ways  in  which 
you  could  be  of  service  to  him  ;  but  you  must  be  care- 
ful, and  consult  with  Lady  Drum,  who  is  going  to 
Glasgow,  and  will  probably  see  him  there.  How  for- 
tunate you  are  to  have  no  care  whatever  on  your  mind 
but  the  thought  of  how  to  do  other  people  good.  You 
are  never  anxious  about  yourself ;  you  seem  to  be  sur- 
rounded by  a  sort  of  halo  of  comfort  and  satisfaction  ; 
and  annoyances  that  strike  against  the  charmed  circle 
are  blunted  and  fall  to  the  ground." 

"  That  is  a  very  nice  and  pretty  speech,"  said  Co- 
quette, with  a  smile.  "  I  will  soon  believe  the  English 
are  not  a  barbarous  nation  if  you  make  such  long 
compliments." 

"  I  wonder,"  said  Lord  Earlshope,  looking  away 
over  the  sea,  and  apparently  almost  talking  to  himself, 
"  whether,  if  I  were  to  tell  you  another  secret,  it  would 
annoy  you  in  the  least.  I  do  not  think  it  would.  How 
could  it  matter  to  you  ?  " 

"  But  what  is  it  ? "  said  Coquette, 
i       "  Suppose,"  said  he,  throwing  another  pebble  at  the 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HE  TIL  !S9 

bit  of  seaweed,  "  that  I  were  to  tell  you,  first,  that  you 
had  no  need  to  be  alarmed,that  I  did  not  mean  to  fright 
en  you  with  a  proposal,  or  any  nonsense  of  that  kind  ; 
and  then  tell  you  that  I  had  fallen  in  love  with  you  ? 
Suppose  I  were  to  do  that,  and  tell  you  the  history  of 
the  thing,  it  would  not  trouble  you  in  the  least,  would 
it  ?  Why  should  it,  indeed  ?  You  are  not  responsible  ; 
you  are  not  affected,  by  the  catastrophe  ;  you  might  be 
curious  to  know  more  about  it,  even,  as  something  to 
pass  the  time." 

He  spoke  with  the  most  absolute  indifference,  and 
so  preoccupied  was  he  that  he  did  not  even  look  at  his 
companion.  The  first  start  of  surprise  had  given  way 
to  a  mute  and  apprehensive  fear ;  her  face  was  quite 
pale,  and  she  did  not  know  that  her  two  hands  were  tightly 
clasped  in  her  lap,  as  if  to  keep  them  from  trembling. 

"  Such  is  the  fact,  however,"  he  continued,  just  as 
rf  he  were  describing  to  her  some  event  of  yesterday, 
of  which  he  had  been  an  interested  spectator.  "  You 
cannot  be  nearly  so  surprised  as  I  am  ;  indeed,  I  don't 
suppose  you  would  think  anything  about  it,  unless  you 
considered  it  as  a  misfortune  which  has  happened  to 
me,  and  then  you  will,  I  hope  without  laughing,  give  me 
the  benefit  of  your  sympathy.  Yet  I  am  not  very 
wretched,  you  see ;  and  you — you  are  no  more  affected 
by  it  than  if  you  were  the  moon,  and  I,  according  to 
the  Eastern  saying,  one  of  the  hundred  streams  looking 
up  to  you.  I  am  afraid  I  have  been  experimenting  on 
myself,  and  deserve  the  blow  that  has  fallen.  I  have 
been  flying  my  kite  too  near  the  thunder-cloud ;  and 
\vhat  business  had  a  man  of  my  age  with  a  kite  ?  " 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders,  quite  without  bitterness 
of  spirit.  It  was  a  misfortune,  and  to  be  accepted. 

"  I  am  very  sorry,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice. 

"  No  ! — why  sorry  ?  "  he  said.  "  I  fancied  I  was 
more  philosophical  than  I  am.  I  think  my  first  senti- 
ment towards  you  was  merely  idle  curiosity.  I  wished 
to  see  how  so  rare  an  exotic  would  flourish  when  trans- 
planted to  our  bleak  Scotch  moors.  Then  yoa  allowed 
me  to  make  your  acquaintance ;  and  I  believed  myself 


160  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HE  TIL 

filled  with  the  most  paternal  solicitude  about  your  wel- 
fare. Sometimes  I  had  doubts,  sometimes  I  made  ex- 
periments to  solve  them.  If  I  were  to  tell  you  how  I 
fought  against  the  certainty  that  I  had  become  the 
victim  of  an  affection  foolish,  hopeless,  unreasoning, 
you  would,  perhaps,  understand  why  I  think  it  better 
to  tell  you  frankly  so  much  as  I  have  done,  by  way  of 
explanation.  You  might  also  be  amused,  perhaps,  if 
you  cared  for  recondite  studies.  To  me  it  has  been  very 
odd  to  find  that,  after  I  had  dissected  every  sensation 
and  analyzed  every  scrap  of  emotion  I  experienced, 
another  being  has  sprung  into  existence  by  the  very 
side  of  my  lecture-table.  That  other  being  is  also,  I 
looking  with  contempt  at  my  own  anatomical  experi- 
ment. And  there  is  yet  a  third  I,  now  talking  to  you, 
who  looks  as  a  spectator  upon  both  the  anatomist  and 
the  spectral  being  who  has  escaped  his  knife.  Do  you 
understand  all  this  ?  " 

A  stone  fell  close  beside  them,  and  Coquette's  heart 
leaped  up  at  the  sound.  It  had  been  pitched  down  by 
Lady  Drum,  as  a  signal  that  she  was  impatient. 

"  Yes,  I  understand  it  all,"  said  Coquette,  still  in 
the  same  low  voice ;  "  but  it  is  very  dreadful." 

"  Then  it  is  not  amusing,"  said  Lord  Earlshope, 
offering  his  hand  to  raise  her  up.  "  I  beg  your  pardon 
for  boring  you  with  a  psychological  conundrum.  You 
are  not  vexed  about  my  having  mentioned  it  at  all  ?  M 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Coquette ;  but  the  beach  and  the  sea 
and  the  far  mountains  seemed  insecure  and  wavering, 
and  she  would  fain  have  had  Lady  Drum's  arm  to  lean 
upon. 

"  How  could  you  be  vexed,  indeed,  except  by  the 
d ulness  of  the  story  ? "  said  Lord  Earlshope  cheerfully. 
"  You  may  consider,  if  you  like,  that  you  never  heard 
my  confession.  It  cannot  affect  you  ;  nor  need  it,  indeed, 
in  the  slightest  degree  affect  our  relations  with  each 
o-ther.  Do  you  agree  with  me  ?  " 

"  OKI,  yes,  I  mean  ;  it  will  be  quite  the  same  between 
us  as  before."  said  Coquette. 

44  You  will  not  find  me  torture  you  with  the  jealous- 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH  ^i 

ies  of  a  lover.  I  shall  not  scowl  when  you  write  a  letter 
without  showing  m«e  the  address.  I  shall  not  even  be 
angry  if  you  enclose  flowers  in  it.  We  shall  be  to  each 
other,  I  hope,  the  friends  we  have  always  been,  until  I 
have  quite  recovered  my  equanimity.  And  you  will  not 
make  me  the  butt  of  your  ridicule  during  the  process  ?" 

"  I  shall  always  be  very  sorry  that  this  has  happened," 
said  Coquette. 

"  Why,  of  coarse,"  said  her  companion.  "  Didn't  I 
say  so?  You  are  sorry,  because  it  is  my  misfortune. 
Had  it  been  your  own,  you  would  not  have  cared.  In 
return,  when  you  fall  in  love,  perhaps  with  your  hand- 
some cousin,  let  us  say,  who  means,  I  know,  to  come 
back  crowned  with  laurels  in  order  to  win  for  himself  a 
pretty  wife  somewhere  down  in  Ayrshire,  I  will  do  my 
best  to  become  sorry  for  you.  But  then,  in  your  case, 
why  should  anybody  be  sorry  ?  To  fall  in  love  is  not 
always  a  misfortune,  at  least,  I  hope  there  are  some  who 
do  not  find  it  so." 

For  the  first  time  he  spoke  sadly,  and  the  expression 
of  his  face  conveyed  that  he  was  thinking  of  some  dis- 
tant time.  When  Coquette  and  her  companion  rejoined 
Lady  Drum  they  were  both  unusually  silent.  As  for  the 
young  girl,  indeed,  she  was  anxious  to  get  once  more 
into  the  wagonette,  and  have  the  horses'  heads  turned 
towards  Oban.  In  the  rumble  of  the  wheels  along  the 
road  there  was  not  much  occasion  to  talk  ;  and  very 
little  indeed  of  the  beautiful  scenery,  on  that  calm  and 
bright  autumn  morning,  did  Coquette  see  as  they  passed 
over  the  neck  of  land  towards  Qban  Bay. 


X62  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

CHAPTER  XXIII. 

COQUETIE  BEGINS  TO  FEAR. 

"  UNCLE,"  said  Coquette,  directly  they  had  returned 
to  the  yacht,  "when  shall  we  go  back  to  Airlie  ? " 

The  Minister  looked  up  in  a  surprised  and  dazed  way 
from  his  manuscripts  and  said, — 

"  Go  back  ?  yes,  I  have  been  thinking  of  that  too, 
for  it  is  not  fitting  that  one  should  be  away  from  the 
duties  to  which  one  has  been  called.  But  you,  don't 
you  understand  that  it  is  for  your  sake  that  we  are  here  ? 
Are  you  so  much  better  ?  What  does  Lady  Drum  say  ?  " 

The  Minister  had  now  so  far  brought  himself  back 
from  the  sermon  on  Jonah  that  he  could  attentively  scan 
his  niece's  face. 

"  Why,"  said  he,  "  you  are  more  pale,  more  languid, 
now  than  I  have  seen  you  for  many  days.  Will  not  a 
little  more  of  the  sea  air  make  you  feel  strong  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  unwell,"  said  Coquette,  with  the  same  air 
of  cold  restraint ;  "  but  if  it  will  please  you  to  go  farther 
with  the  boat,  then  I  will  go  too." 

So  she  went  away  to  her  own  cabin,  fearing  to  go  on 
deck  and  meet  Lord  Earlshope.  In  their  common  state- 
room she  encountered  Lady  Drum. 

"  You  two  were  deeply  occupied,"  she  said,  with  a 
grave  and  kindly  smile,  "  when  ye  foregathered  on  the 
beach." 

"  Yes,"  said  Coquette,  with  an  anxious  haste,  "  I  did 
speak  to  Lord  Earlshope  about  my  cousin  in  Glasgow." 

"It  must  have  been  an  interesting  subject,  for  ye 
never  took  your  eyes  from  watching  the  toe  of  your 
boot,  which  was  peeping  from  under  your  dress  :  and  he, 
I  am  sure,  would  not  have  noticed  a  man-of-war  had  it 
come  around  the  point.  Dear,  dear  me !  I  willna  scold 
you ;  but  to  come  so  soon,  ye  know,  after  your  poor 
cousin  left  ye " 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH  163 

"  No,  no,  no  ! "  said  Coquette,  hurriedly,  as  she  took 
her  friend's  hand  in  hers  ;  "  you  must  not  talk  like  that. 
You  do  not  know  that  I  have  just  been  to  my  uncle  to 
ask  him  to  go  home." 

Lady  Drum  began  to  look  more  serious.  She  had 
been  bantering  the  young  girl  in  that  fashion  which  most 
elderly  people  love,  but  she  had  no  idea  that  she  was  ac- 
tually hitting  the  mark.  This  sudden  wish  on  the  part 
of  Coquette  to  return  to  Airlie,  what  could  it  mean  ? 
Considerably  startled,  the  old  lady  saw  for  the  first  time 
that  there  was  real  danger  ahead  ;  and  she  asked  Coquette 
to  sit  down  and  have  a  talk  with  her,  in  a  voice  so  solemn 
that  Coquette  was  alarmed,  and  refused. 

"  No,"  she  said,  "  I  will  not  talk.  It  is  nothing.  You 
imagine  more  than  is  true.  All  that  I  wish  is  to  leave 
this  voyage  when  it  pleases  you  and  my  uncle." 

But  Lady  Drum  was  not  to  be  gainsaid  ;  she  felt  it 
to  be  her  duty  to  warn  Coquette.  Lord  Earlshope,  she 
said,  was  a  man  whom  it  was  necessary  to  understand. 
He  had  been  accustomed  to  luxurious  indolence  all  his 
clays,  and  might  drift  into  a  position  which  would  com- 
promise more  than  himself.  He  had  a  dangerous  habit 
of  regarding  himself  as  a  study,  and  experimenting  on 
himself,  without  reflecting  what  others  might  suffer. 
Then,  again,  he  had  so  resolutely  avoided  introductions 
to  rich  and  charming  young  ladies  who  had  visited  Cas- 
tle Cawmil,  that  she — Lady  Drum,  was  convinced  he  had 
some  rooted  aversion  to  the  consideration  of  marriage, 
that  he  would  never  marry. 

"  Have  ye  never  heard  him  talk  about  marriage,  and 
the  mistakes  that  young  men  make  ?  He  is  as  bitter 
about  that  as  if  he  was  an  old  man  of  sixty,  or  as  if  he 
had  made  a  foolish  marriage  himself.  Perhaps  he  has," 
she  continued,  with  a  smile  ;  "  but  his  success  in  con- 
cealing it  all  these  years  must  be  a  credit  to  him." 

"All  that  does  not  concern  me,"  said  Coquette,  with 
a  sort  of  piteous  deprecation  in  her  tone.  "  Why  do  you 
speak  to  me  about  Lord  Earlshope's  marriage  ?  I  do 
not  care  if  he  has  been  in  fifty  marriages.1'' 

"  Will  you  tell  me  why  you  are  suddenly  anxious  to 


T64  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

go  home  ? "  said  Lady  Drum,  bending  her  grave  and 
kind  eyes  upon  the  girl. 

"  I  have  told  you,"  said  Coquette,  with  a  touch  of 
hantcur  in  her  voice,  as  she  turned  abruptly  away  and 
walked  out. 

She  stood  at  the  foot  of  the  companion-steps. 
Which  way  should  she  choose  ?  Overhead  she  heard 
Lord  Earlshope  talking  to  the  skipper,  who  was  getting 
the  yacht  under  canvas  to  resume  the  voyage.  In  the 
saloon  sat  her  uncle,  deep  in  the  intricacies  of  Scotch 
theology.  Behind  her  was  the  elderly  lady  from  whom 
she  had  just  broken  away  with  a  gesture  of  indignant 
pride.  For  a  minute  or  two  she  remained  irresolute, 
though  the  firmness  of  her  lips  showed  that  she  was  still 
smarting  from  what  she  had  considered  an  unwarrantable 
interference.  Then  she  went  gently  back  to  the  state- 
room door,  opened  it,  walked  over  to  where  Lady  Drum 
sat,  and  knelt  down  penitently  and  put  her  head  in  her 
lap. 

"  I  hope  you  are  not  angry  or  offended  with  me,"  she 
said,  in  a  low  voice.  "  I  am  very  sorry.  I  would  tell 
you  what  you  ask,  but  it  is  not  my  secret,  Lady  Drum,  I 
must  not,  indeed,  tell  you.  It  is  because  you  are  so  good 
a  friend  that  you  ask  ;  but — but — but  it  is  no  matter  ; 
and  will  you  help  me  to  go  back  soon  to  Airlie  ? " 

"  Help  you  ? — yes,  I  will,"  said  Lady  Drum,  in  the 
same  kindly  way,  although  it  was  but  natural  she  should 
feel  a  little  hurt  at  having  her  curiosity  baffled.  She  put 
her  hand  in  a  gracious  and  stately  fashion  on  the  young 
girl's  head,  and  said;  "You  have  a  right  to  keep  your 
own  secrets  if  you  choose  ;  far  be  it  from  me  to  ask  you 
to  give  them  up.  But  should  you  want  to  confide  ia  a 
person  who  has  some  experience  o'  life,  and  is  anxious 
to  do  ye  every  service,  you  have  but  to  come  to  me." 

"  Oh,  I  am  sure  of  that,"  said  Coquette,  gratefully. 
"  I  will  be  as  your  own  daughter  to  you." 

"  And  about  this  going  back,"  continued  Lady  Drum. 
"  It  would  look  strange  to  turn  at  this  point,  just  after 
letting  your  cousin  go  home  by  himself.  We  shall  hae 
the  best  part  o'  the  thing  over  in  a  couple  o'  days,  when 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH.  165 

we  get  up  to  Skye ;  and  then,  if  ye  like,  we  can  go  back 
by  the  steamer." 

"  Two  more  days  ! "  said  Coquette,  almost  wildly,  as 
she  started  to  her  feet — "  two  more  days  !  How  can  I 
bear " 

She  caught  herself  up,  and  was  silent. 

"  There  is  something  in  all  this  that  ye  keep  back," 
said  Lady  Drum.  "  I  dinna  blame  ye  ;  but  when  it  suits 
ye  to  be  more  frank  wi'  me  ye  will  no  find  yourself  wi' 
a  backward  friend.  Now  we  will  go  upon  the  deck  and 
see  what's  to  the  fore." 

Coquette  was  glad  fo  go  on  deck  under  this  safe-con- 
duct. Yet  what  had  she  to  fear  ?  Lord  Earlshope  had 
made  a  certain  communication  to  her  with  the  obvious 
belief  that  she  would  treat  it  as  a  matter  of  no  impor- 
tance to  herself.  Was  she  not,  according  to  his  own  ac- 
count, surrounded  by  a  halo  of  self-content  which  made 
her  independent  of  the  troubles  which  afflicted  others  ? 

"  But  I  am  not  selfish,"  she  had  bitterly  thought  to 
herself,  as  they  were  driving  back  to  Oban.  "  Why 
should  he  think  I  have  no  more  feeling  than  a  statue  or 
a  picture  ?  Is  it  that  the  people  of  this  country  do  not 
understand  it  if  you  are  comfortable  and  careless  for  the 
moment  ? " 

When  they  now  went  on  deck,  Lord  Earlshope  came 
forward  as  though  he  had  utterly  forgotten  that  conver- 
sation on  the  beach  at  Dunstaff  nage,  and  placed  Coquette 
and  her  companion  in  a  position  so  that  they  could 
see  the  bay  and  the  houses,  and  the  rocks  of  Dunolly, 
which  they  were  now  leaving  behind.  Coquette  bade 
good-bye  to  Oban  with  but  little  regret.  Perhaps  she 
was  chiefly  thinking  that  in  a  few  minutes  they  would 
come  in  sight  of  that  curved  indentation  of  the  coast 
which  would  remind  Lord  Earlshope  of  what  had  oc- 
curred there.  And,  indeed,  as  they  opened  out  Loch 
Etive,  and  stood  over  towards  the  Sound  of  Mull,  with 
the  dark  mountains  of  Appin  in  the  north,  and  the  blue 
waters  of  the  Atlantic  stretching  far  into  the  south,  they 
actually  came  in  sight  of  those  tiny  bays  which  they  had 
visited  in  the  morning. 


1 66  A  DAUGHTER  OF  IIETH. 

"  Do  you  recognize  the  place  ? "  asked  Lord  Earls- 
hope,  carelessly,  of  Lady  Drum. 

Then  he  turned  to  Coquette,  and  bade  her  admire 
the  beautiful  and  soft  colors  of  the  Morven  mountains, 
where  the  sunlight  brought  out  the  warm  tints  of  the 
rusty  breckan  and  the  heather,  through  the  pearly  gray 
of  the  mist  and  the  heat.  Very  lovely,  too,  were  the 
hills  of  Lismore  and  Lome,  dappled  with  cloud-shadows 
moving  across  their  great  shoulders  and  deep  valleys, 
while  over  on  their  left  rose  the  darker  mountains  of 
Mull,  bare  and  blue  and  solitary.  All  around  them,  in- 
deed, lay  this  great  panorama  of  jagged  mountain  and 
smoother  hill,  with  dark  stretches  of  forest  here  and 
there,  and  at  their,  base  the  great  and  breezy  plain  of 
the  sea,  with  its  white  line  of  foam  along  the  rocks,  and 
the  monotonous  cry  of  its  breaking  waves. 

"  It  is  very  lonely,"  said  Coquette,  looking  wistfully 
around  the  far  shores.  "  I  do  not  see  any  sign  of  life 
among  those  mountains  or  near  the  sea." 

"  You  would  not  enjoy  a  long  visit  to  these  places," 
said  Lord  Earlshope,  with  a  smile.  "  I  imagine  that  the 
constant  sight  of  the  loneliness  of  the  mountains  would 
make  you  miserable.  Does  not  the  sea  look  sad  to  you  ? 
I  have  fancied  I  noticed  a  sense  of  relief  on  your  face 
when  we  have  settled  down  in  the  evening  to  a  comfort- 
able chatter  in  the  cabin,  and  have  shut  out  for  the  night 
the  sea  and  the  solitary  hills  and  the  sky." 

She  did  not  answer,  nor  could  she  understand  how 
he  spoke  to  her  thus,  with  absolute  freedom  of  tone  and 
manner.  Had  she  dreamed  all  that  had  happened  under 
the  ruined  walls  of  Dunstaffnage  ?  She  only  knew  that 
he  was  looking  at  her  with  his  accustomed  look  of  min- 
gled curiosity  and  interest,  and  that  he  was,  as  usual, 
telling  her  of  his  speculations  as  regarded  herself.  Or 
was  he  only  assuming  this  ease  of  manner  to  dissipate 
her  fears  and  restore  their  old  relations  ?  Was  he  only 
feigning  indifference,  in  order  to  remove  her  constraint  ? 

It  was  not  until  the  afternoon,  when  they  had  gone 
up  through  the  Sound  of  Mull,  and  were  drawing  near 
to  their  anchorage  in  Tobermory  Bay,  that  he  had  an 


A  DA  UGHTER  OF  HE  TIT.  !  6  7 

opportunity  of  speaking  to  her  alone.  Lady  Drum  had 
gone  below,  and  Coquette  suddenly  found  herself  de- 
fenceless. 

"  Come,  Miss  Cassilis,"  he  said,  "  have  it  out  with  me 
now.  You  have  been  avoiding  me  all  day,  to  punish  me 
for  my  foolish  disclosure  of  this  morning.  Is  that  the 
case  ?  Did  I  commit  a  blunder  ?  If  I  did,  you  must 
pardon  me  ;  I  did  not  fancy  you  would  have  wasted  a 
second  thought  on  the  matter.  And,  indeed,  I  cannot 
afford  to  have  you  vexed  by  my  indiscretion ;  it  is  not 
natural  for  you  to  look  vexed." 

"  If  I  am  vexed,"  she  said,  looking  down,  and  yet 
speaking  rather  warmly,  "  it  is  to  hear  you  speak  of  me. 
so.  You  do  seem  to  think  me  incapable  of  caring  for 
anyone  but  myself  ;  you  think  I  should  not  be  human ;  not 
interested  in  my  friends,  but  always  thinking  of  myself  ; 
always  pleased  ;  always  with  one  look,  like  a  picture.  It 
is  not  true.  I  am  grieved  when  my  friends  are  grieved, 
I  cannot  be  satisfied  and  pleased  when  they  are  in 
trouble.'' 

"  Surely  you  have  no  need  to  tell  me  that,"  he  said. 
"  When  your  face  is  clouded  with  cares,  I  know  they  are 
not  your  cares,  and  that  you  are  far  too  ready  to  accept 
the  burden  of  other  people's  trouble.  But  I  maintain 
you  have  no  right  to  do  so.  It  is  your  business,  your 
duty,  to  be  pleased,  satisfied,  contented  ;  to  make  other 
people  happy  by  looking  at  your  happiness.  It  is  natural 
to  you  to  be  happy.  Why,  then,  should  you  for  a  mo- 
ment suffer  yourself  to  be  annoyed  by  what  I  told  you 
this  morning  ?  I  see  1*  made  a  mistake.  You  must  for- 
get it.  I  fancied  I  might  talk  to  you  about  it  without  its 
troubling  you  more  than  the  looking  at  a  new  vessel  on 
the  horizon  would  trouble  you " 

"  And  you  believe  me,  therefore,"  she  said,  with  some 
indignation  in  her  voice,  "  a  mere  doll,  a  baby,  to  be 
pleased  with  a  rattle,  and  incapable  of  understanding 
the  real  human  trouble  around  me  ?  Perhaps  you  are 
right.  Perhaps  I  do  not  care  for  anything  but  my  own 
pleasure,  but  it  is  not  flattery  to  tell  me  so." 

With  that  she  walked  away  from  him  and  rejoined 


j68  A  DAUGHTER  OF  I1ETIL 

Lady  Drum,  who  had  again  come  on  deck.  Lord  Earls- 
hope  had  no  further  chance  of  speaking  a  word  to  her. 
At  dinner,  in  the  evening,  Coquette  was  silent,  and  her 
face  was  downcast  and  troubled.  When  she  spoke  it  was 
to  Lady  Drum,  towards  whom  she  was  obediently  and 
almost  anxiously  attentive. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

TOUCHING    CERTAIN    PROBLEMS. 

VERY  singular  in  appearance  was  the  small  congrega- 
tion grouped  on  the  deck  of  the  Caroline,  to  listen  to  Mr. 
Cassilis's  sermon  on  that  quiet  Sunday  morning.  The 
Minister  himself  stood  erect  and  firm,  with  his  gray  hair, 
for  he  was  bareheaded,  and  his  sunken  face  touched  with 
the  misty  glow  of  the  early  sunlight.  Almost  at  his  feet 
sat  Lady  Drum  and  Coquette,  the  latter  sometimes  wist- 
fully looking  away  over  the  calm  sea,  towards  the  Calve 
Island  or  the  distant  shores  of  Loch  Sunart.  Lord 
Earlshope  sat  by  himself  still  farther  aft,  where  he  could 
catch  the  outline  of  Coquette's  face  as  she  turned  to  look 
up  at  the  Minister.  And  then  forward  were  the  sailors, 
a  small  group  of  bronzed  and  sturdy  men,  lying  about 
in  a  listless  and  picturesque  fashion,  with  their  scarlet 
caps  gleaming  in  the  sun.  The  background  was  the 
smooth  waters  of  the  bay,  with  a  faint  blue  smoke  rising 
mistily  into  the  still  air  from  over  the  scattered  houses  of 
Toi>ermory. 

Coquette  had  begged  hard  to  be  allowed  to  preface 
or  assist  the  service  with  her  harmonium,  but  her  prayer 
was  explicitly  refused.  Indeed,  there  might  not  have 
been  much  in  the  music  to  harmonize  with  the  stern  and 
matter-of-fact  exhortation  which  the  Minister  had  pre- 
pared. It  is  true  that,  as  he  warmed  to  his  subject,  he 
indulged  in  the  rare  license  of  breaking  away  from  his 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH.  ^9 

preconceived  plan  of  argument  and  illustration.  He  was 
dealing  with  things  which  were  now  before  his  eyes  ;  and 
as  his  rude  and  homely  eloquence  became  more  and  more 
touched  with  enthusiasm,  it  seemed  as  though  the  in- 
spiration of  the  sea  had  fallen  on  him.  "  What  meanest, 
thou,  O  sleeper  ? "  was  his  text  ;  and  the  cry  with  which 
the  sailors  awakened  Jonah  seemed  the  Minister's  own 
cry  to  the  men  who  now  lived  along  these  lonely  coasts. 
Indeed,  there  was  a  singular  and  forcible  realism  about 
the  address  which  surprised  Coquette  ;  it  was  so  differ- 
ent from  the  long  and  weary  sermons  on  doctrine  to 
which  she  had  of  late  been  accustomed.  The  Minister 
had  borrowed  all  his  imagery  from  his  recent  experi- 
ences. He  described  the  storm,  the  rushing  of  the  water, 
the  gloom  of  the  hills,  the  creaking  of  cordage,  until  you 
could  have  fancied  that  Jonah  was  actually  trying  to 
make  for  Crinan  Bay.  The  sailors  were  thoroughly 
aroused  and  interested.  It  was  to  them  a  thrilling  and 
powerful,  narrative  of  something  that  had  actually  hap- 
pened, something  far  more  real  and  human  than  the 
vague  stories  and  legends  of  the  Western  Isles,  those 
faintly  colored  and  beautiful  things  that  happened  so  far 
away  and  so  long  ago  that  the  sound  of  them  now  is  like, 
the  sound  of  a  sea-shell. 

Of  course  there  came  the  application,  which  was 
equally  practical,  if  less  picturesque.  The  fishermen, 
who  were  now  lazily  lying  on  the  grassy  slopes  above 
the  Tobermory  cottages,  satisfied  with  the  drowsy 
warmth  and  the  sensation  of  rest,  the  sailors  themselves, 
who  were  busy  from  day  to  day  with  the  mysteries  ®f  the 
elements,  fighting  with  the  accidents  of  the  present 
world,  regarding  only  the  visible  horizon  around  them, 
they  were  but  as  sleepers  asleep  in  a  storm.  For  out- 
side of  this  visible  horizon,  lay  another  and  more  myste- 
rious horizon,  which  was  daily  drawing  closer  to  them, 
bearing  with  it  the  doom  of  humanity.  Hour  by  hour 
the  world  was  being  narrowed  by  this  approaching  bank 
of  cloud  ;  and  when  at  last  it  'burst,  and  the  lightning 
of  death  gleamed  out  from  its  sombre  shadows,  would 
there  then  be  time  to  seek  for  the  Jonah  who  must. be 


1 70  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

thrown  overboard  ?  The  old  man,  with  his  bared  head 
and  his  eager  manner,  seemed  himself  a  prophet  sent  up 
to  denounce  Nineveh  and  all  her  iniquities ;  and  so  im- 
pressive and  resonant  was  his  voice,  heard  over  the 
strange  calm  of  the  sea,  that  more  than  one  of  the 
sailors  had  unconsciously  turned  to  gaze  far  out  towards 
the  western  horizon,  as  though  expecting  to  find  there 
the  gathering  storm-clouds  of  which  he  spoke. 

After  this  forenoon  service  had  been  finished,  a 
dilemma  occurred.  The  Minister  had  been  furnished 
with  no  rules  for  the  observance  of  the  Sabbath  on 
board  a  vessel.  He  had  no  precedents  for  his  guidance. 
He  could  not  simply  request  everybody  to  come  indoors 
and  take  a  book.  Coquette,  indeed,  resolutely  remained 
on  deck. 

"Well,"  said  Lady  Drum,  "we  are  out  o'  doors  as 
much  as  we  can  be,  and  it  would  be  no  worse,  surely,  if 
we  went  on  shore." 

Not  even  Lord  Earlshope  had  thought  of  continu- 
ing their  voyage ;  that  was  a  thing  which,  on  the  face 
of  it,  could  not  be  permitted.  But  when  the  Minister 
was  confronted  by  the  difficulty  which  Lady  Drum  had 
discovered,  he  did  not  know  well  what  to  do.  He  was 
averse  to  their  going  ashore  and  walking  about  on  the 
Sabbath  morning,  to  the  scandal  of  all  decent  folk  ;  on 
the  other  hand,  there  was  little  difference  between  that 
and  sitting  on  deck  to  look  at  the  sea  and  the  houses, 
while  going  below  and  immuring  themselves  all  day  was 
out  of  the  question.  At  last  his  natural  good-sense 
triumphed.  He  gave  his  consent  to  their  leaving  the 
boat  for  a  certain  time,  in  fact,  until  the  hour  for  after- 
noon service  on  deck,  if  they  chose,  but  he  would  re- 
main on  board. 

•"  You  will  come  ashore,  will  you  not  ?  "  said  Lord 
Earlshope  to  Coquette. 

"No,  I  wish  to  remain  with  my  uncle,"  said  Co- 
quette, hurriedly. 

"  Nonsense,  nonsense  !  "  said  Lady  Drum  "  Would 
you  have  an  old  woman  like  me  stravaiging  about  the 
shore  by  myself  ?  " 


A  DA  UGHTER  OF  HE  Tff-  1 7 1 

"  But  Lord  Earlshope  will  go  with  you,"  said  Co 
quette,  timidly. 

"  That  does  not  matter.  He  is  no  a  companion  for 
me  ;  so  get  on  your  hat  and  come  away  at  once." 

Coquette  did  so,  and  got  into  the  pinnace,  deter- 
mined to  cling  closely  to  Lady  Drum's  side.  As  they 
neared  the  shore,  the  latter  remarked  that  the  village 
seemed  quite  deserted. 

"  The  fishermen  spend  their  Sundays  either  indoors 
or  up  on  the  hills,5'  said  Lord  Earlshope.  "  I  believe 
the  married  ones  prefer  the  hills." 

Perhaps  that  haphazard  allusion  to  marriage  remained 
in  his  mind  ;  for,  after  they  had  landed  and  walked 
some  distance  around  the  shore,  until  they  discovered  a 
pleasant  place  from  which  to  sit  and  watch  the  sea-birds 
over  the  Sound,  he  said,  rather  indolently, — 

"  I  wonder  how  many  of  those  poor  men  have  a  pleas- 
ant home  to  return  to  after  the  fatigue  and  discom- 
fort of  a  night  out  at  the  fishing." 

As  this  was  a  problem  which  neither  of  the  ladies 
with  him  could  readily  solve,  the  only  answer  was  the 
plashing  of  the  clear  sea-water  on  the  stones.  Presently 
he  said,  in  the  same  careless  way, — 

"  Do  you  know,  Lady  Drum,  that  physiologists  say 
we  become  quite  differant  people  every  seven  years  ? 
Don't  look  surprised,  I  am  going  to  explain.  They  say 
that  every  atom  and  every  particle  of  us  have  in  that 
time  been  used  up  and  replaced  ;  so  that  we  are  not  the 
same  persons  we  were  seven  years  before.  It  is  but 
natural  to  suppose  that  the  mind  changes  with  the  body, 
if  not  so  completely.  You,  for  example,  must  find  that 
you  have  not  the  same  opinions  on  many  subjects  that 
you  had  seven  years  ago.  And  in  the  case  of  young 
people  especially,  they  do  positively  and  actually  change 
the  whole  of  their  mental  and  physical  structure  in  even 
less  time  than  that.  You  follow"  this  introductory  dis- 
course ? "  he  added,  with  a  laugh. 

"  Quite,"  said  the  elderly  lady,  "  though  I  am  no 
sure  it  is  a  proper  one  for  a  Sabbath  morning." 

"  You  must  hear  me  out,  and  with  attention..  The 


172 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 


subject  is  profound.  If  I  am  a  different  person  at  the 
end  of  seven  years,  why  should  I  be  bound  by  promises 
I  made  when  I  was  my  former  self  ? " 

"  Mercy  on  us  !  "  said  Lady  Drum.  "  Is  it  a  rid 
die?" 

"  Yes.  Shall  I  help  you  to  solve  it  by  an  illustra- 
tion ?  Suppose  one  of  those  sturdy  young  fishermen 
here,  when  he  is  a  mere  boy  of  nineteen,  undeveloped 
and  quite  vacant  as  to  experience,  i-s  induced  to  marry 
some  woman  who  has  a  bad  nature  and  a  hideous  tem- 
per. He  is  a  fool,  of  course.  But  seven  years  after- 
wards he  is  not  so  great  a  fool,  indeed  he  has  become 
another  person,  according  to  the  physiological  theory, 
and  the  new  fisherman  hates  and  abhors  his  wife,  per- 
ceives the  deformity  of  her  character,  is  revolted  by  her 
instead  of  attracted  to  her.  Now  why  should  he  be 
bound  by  the  promise  of  the  former  fisherman  ?  Indeed, 
she  too  is  another  woman.  Why  should  the  old  mar- 
riage bind  together  these  two  new  persons  ?  It  has 
gone  away  as  the  mark  on  your  finger-nail  goes  away, 
they  have  outgrown  it." 

Lady  Drum  began  to  look  alarmed,  and  Lord  Earls- 
hope,  catching  sight  of  her  face,  laughed  lightly. 

"  No,"  he  said,  "  don't  imagine  me  a  monster.  I 
don't  want  to  un marry  anybody  ;  it  is  only  a  theory. 
Yet  why  shouldn't  there  be  a  Statute  of  Limitations 
with  regard  to  other  matters  than  money  ?  " 

"  You  mean,"  said  Lady  Drum,  solemnly,  "  that  I, 
Margaret  Ainslie  Drum,  wife  of  Sir  Peter  of  that  name, 
am  no  longer  a  married  woman,  but  free  to  marry  whom 
I  please  ? " 

"  Precisely,"  said  Lord  Earlshope,  apparently  with  a 
sincere  joy  that  she  had   so   thoroughly  understood  his 
argument.     "  You  might   marry    me,    or   anybody,  ac 
cording  to  the  theory,  you  know." 

"  Yes,  according  to  the  theory,"  remarked  Lady 
Drum,  endeavoring  to  repress  her  virtuous  wrath  ;  "  of 
course,  according  to  the  theory." 

With  that  he  fairly  burst  out  laughing. 

"  I  do  believe  I  have  shocked  you,"  he. said,  "  in  my 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  I1ETH.  173 

endeavor  to  find  out  an  argument  why  that  imaginary 
poor  fisherman  should  be  released  from  his  bonds.  It 
was  only  a  joke,  you  know,  Lady  Drum  ;  for  of  course  one 
could  not  unsettle  all  the  marriages  in  England  merely 
to  benefit  one  or  two  people.  Yet  it  does  seem  hard 
that  when  a  man  is  a  fool  and  marries,  then  ceases  to  be 
a  fool  and  wishes  to  be  free  from  his  blunder,  there  is 
no  hope  for  him.  You  don't  seem  to  care  to  speculate 
about  those  matters,  do  you  ?  "  he  added,  carelessly,  as 
he  tried  to  twine  two  bits  of  grass.  "  Have  you  ever 
looked  around  the  whole  circle  of  your  acquaintances, 
and  wondered,  supposing  all  present  marriages  were 
dissolved,  what  new  conbinations  they  would  form  in  a 
week's  time  ?  " 

"  I  confess,"  said  Lady  Drum,  with  some  sarcasm, 
"  that  I  have  never  amused  myself  in  so  ingenious  a  way. 
Pray,  Lord  Earlshope,  what  was  it  in  Mr.  Cassilis's  ser- 
mon that  provoked  these  meditations  of  yours  ?  " 

"  Oh,  they  are  not  of  recent  date,"  said  his  lordship, 
with  a  fine  indifference.  "  It  is  no  new  thing  for  me  to 
discover  that  some  of  my  friends  would  like  to  be  un- 
married. My  notion  of  their  right  to  do  so  is  only  a 
phantasy  of  course,  which  is  not  to  be  taken  au  grand 
set  ienx. 

"  I  should  think  not,"  said  Lady  Drum,  with  some 
dignity. 

Indeed,  it  was  not  until  they  had  strolled  along  the 
shore  some  distance  on  their  way  back  to  the  boat  that 
the  frown  left  her  face.  Her  natural  good-sense  came 
to  her  aid,  and  showed  her  that  Lord  Earlshope  had 
merely  been  amusing  himself,  as  was  his  wont,  with 
idle  and  morbid  fancies.  He  had  obviously  no  reason 
to  advance  anything  so  horrible  and  dangerous  as  a  free 
criticism  on  the  rights  of  marriage.  What  was  it  to  him 
if  all  the  fishermen  in  Tobermory,  or  in  a  dozen  Tober- 
mories,  remained  up  on  the  hills  during  the  Sundays  in 
order  to  get  away  from  their  wives  ?  So  the  grave  and 
handsome  face  of  the  old  lady  gradually  recovered  its 
urbane  and  benignant  expression,  and  she  ever!  ventured 
o  rebuke  Lord  Earlshope,  in  a  good-humored  way, 


'74 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 


about  the  inappropriate  occasion  he  had  chosen  for  his 
lecture  on  physiology. 

Coquette  had  said  nothing  all  this  time.  She  walked 
by  Lady  Drum's  side,  with  an  absent  look  in  her  face 
and  eyes,  not  paying  much  attention  to  what  was  said, 
She  seemed  somewhat  relieved  to  get  into  the  pinnace 
again,  so  that  Lady  Drum  expressed  a  hope  that  her 
duties  of  companion  had  not  been  irksome  to  her. 

"  Oh,  no  !  "  she  said  ;  "  I  am  ready  to  go  with  you 
whenever  you  please." 

But  later  on  in  the  day  they  had  another  quiet  chat 
to  themselves,  and  Coquette  became  more  confidential. 

"  I  do  not  understand  it ;  there  is  something  wrong 
in  it,  surely,"  said  the  girl,  with  a  thoughtful  look  in  her 
eyes,  "  when  a  young  man  like  Lord  Earlshope  seems  to 
have  nothing  more  in  the  world  to  do,  to  have  lost  in- 
terest in  everything,  and  at  times  to  be  gloomy,  and  as 
if  he  were  angry  with  the  world.  Have  you  not  noticed 
it,  Lady  Drum  ?  Have  you  not  seen  it  in  his  face  when 
he  is  talking  idly  ?  And  then  he  says  something  in  a 
bitter  way,  and  laughs,  and  it  is  not  pleasant  to  hear. 
Why  has  he  lost  interest  in  everything  ?  Why  does  he 
spend  his  time  at  home,  reading  books,  and  anxious  to 
avoid  seeing  people  ?  " 

Lady  Drum  regarded  her  with  astonishment. 

"Well,  well,"  she  said,  "who  would  have  thought 
that  those  dreaming  black  eyes  of  yours  were  studying 
people  so  accurately ;  and  that  beneath  that  knot  of  rib- 
bon in  your  wild  lumps  of  hair  the  oddest  notions  were 
being  formed  ?  And  what  concern  have  ye  wi,  Lord 
Karlshope's  idle  habits,  and  his  restlessness  and  dissatis- 
faction ?" 

"  I  ?  "  said  Coquette,  calmly.     "  It  is  not  my  concern 
but  it  is  sad  to  see  a  man  whose  life  is  wasted,  who  has 
no  longer  any  object  in  it." 

"  He  enjoys  himself,"  said  Lady  Drum. 

"  He  does  not  enjoy  himself,"  said  Coquette,  with  de- 
cision. "  He  is  very  polite,  and  does  not  intrude  his 
troubles  on  any  one.  You  might  think  he  passed  the 
time  pleasantly,  that  he  was  content  with  his  idleness.  I 


A  DA  UGHTER  OF  HE  TIL  x  7  s 

do  not  believe  it,  no,  I  do  believe  there  is  not  a  more 
wretched  man  alive." 

Lady  Drum  elevated  her  eyebrows.  Instead  of  hav- 
ing one  problem  in  humanity  before  her,  she  had  now 
two.  And  why  had  this  young  lady  taken  so  pathetic 
an  interest  in  Lord  Earlshope's  wretchedness  ? 


CHAPTER'XXV, 

COQUETTE'S  PRESENTIMENTS. 

IT  was  impossible  this  condition  of  affairs  could  last/ 
A  far  less  observant  man  than  Lord  Earlshope  was  bound 
to  perceive  the  singular  change  which  had  fallen  over 
Coquette's  manner.  Hitherto  she  had  appeared  to  him 
to  be  the  very  personification  of  joyousness,  to  live  a 
graceful,  happy,  almost  unthinking  life,  in  an  atmosphere 
of  tender  emotions  and  kindly  sentiments,  which  were 
as  the  sunshine  and  the  sea-breezes  to  her.  Why  should 
this  young  creature,  with  the  calm  and  beautiful  face, 
whose  dark  eyes  showed  a  perfect  serenity  and  placidity 
of  soul,  be  visited  with  the  rougher  passions,  the  harsher 
experiences,  which  befal  less  fortunate  people  ?  That 
was  not  her  tole.  It  was  her  business  to  be  happy,  to 
be  waited  upon,  to  be  pleased.  She  had  but  to  sit  on 
deck,  in  her  French  costume  of  dark  green  tartan  and 
black  lace,  with  a  book  lying  open  but  unread  on  her 
knee,  with  her  hand  inside  Lady  Drum's  arm,  with  the 
clear  light  of  the  sea  and  the  clouds  shining  in  her  face 
and  in  the  darkness  of  her  eyes,  and  leave  troubles  and 
cares  and  vexations  to  those  born  under  a  less  fortunate 
star. 

All  that  was  over.  Coquette  was  distraite,  restless, 
miserable.  The  narrow  limits  of  the  yacht  were  a  prison 
to  her.  She  was  silent  and  reserved,  and  seemed  merely 
to  wait  with  a  resigned  air  for  the  end  of  the  voyage. 


J76  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

Had  the  Whaup  been  there,  she  would  probably  have 
entered  into  confidences  with  him,  or  even  relieved  the 
blank  monotony  by  quarrelling  with  him.  As  it  was, 
she  listened  to  Lady  Drum  and  Lord  Earlshope  talking, 
without  adding  a  syllable  to  the  conversation  ;  and,  while 
she  dutifully  waited  on  her  uncle,  and  arranged  his  books 
and  papers  for  him,  she  went  about  in  a  mute  way,  which 
he  took  as  a  kindly  observance  of  his  wish  not  to  be  dis- 
turbed during  his  hours  of  study. 

"  What  ha,s  become  o'  your  blithe  spirits,  Catherine  ?  " 
he  asked  on  the  Monday  morning,  as  they  were  leaving 
Tobermory  Bay.  "  I  do  not  hear  ye  sing  to  yourself 
now  ?  Yet  I  am  told  by  Lady  Drum  that  the  voyage 
has  done  ye  a  world  o'  good." 

"  Oh,  I  am  very  well,  uncle,"  she  said,  eagerly.  "  I 
am  very  well,  indeed  ;  and  whenever  you  please  to  go 
back  to  Airlie,  I  shall  be  glad  to  go  too." 

"  That  is  good  news,"  said  the  Minister,  cheerfully, 
"  good  news.  And  we  maun  see  about  getting  home 
again  ;  for  I  am  anxious  to  hear  how  young  Mr.  M'Alis- 
ter  acquitted  himself  yesterday,  and  I  would  fain  hope 
there  is  no  dissension  among  my  people  this  morning, 
such  as  the  enemy  is  anxious  to  reap  profit  by." 

"  Have  you  an  enemy,  uncle  ? "  said  Coquette. 

"We  have  all  an  enemy,"  said  the  Minister,  so  im- 
pressively that  his  niece  looked  alarmed,  "an  enemy  who 
is  ever  watchful  to  take  advantage  o'  our  absence  or  our 
thochtlessness  ;  who  goeth  about  like  a  raging  lion,  seek- 
ing whom  he  may  devour/' 

"  But  is  he  in  Airlie  ? "  asked  Coquette,  who  was  still 
puzzled 

"  Why,  your  uncle  means  the  devil,"  said  Lady  Drum, 
gayly,  as  she  entered  the  saloon,  "  who  is  in  Airlie  as 
elsewhere,  espaycially  when  there's  whiskey  afoot,  and 
the  Pensioner  is  asked  to  bring  out  his  fiddle.  Come  up 
the  stairs,  both  o'  ye,  and  see  the  wonderfu'  places  we 
are  passing.  I'm  thinking  we  have  got  to  the  end  o'  the 
lochs  and  the  islands  at  last  and  there  is  nothing  left  for 
us  but  to  go  straight  out  into  the  sea.  I  hope  it'll  deal 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HE  TIL  177 

gently  wi'  us,"  added  Lady  Drum,  with  an  involuntary 
shiver. 

When  they  went  on  deck,  Coquette  keeping  close  by 
her  uncle,  as  if  she  feared  being  addressed  by  a  stranger, 
it  was  clear  that  the  good  weather  which  had  so  far  accom- 
panied them  showed  no  signs  of  breaking.  Over  the 
blue  western  sea  there  was  but  the  roughness  of  a  slight 
breeze,  which  Was  only  sufficient  to  fill  the  Caroline 's 
sails  ;  while  the  jagged  coast  of  the  mainland,  with  the 
mountains  of  Ardnamurchan  and  Moidart,  lay  steeped  in 
a  faint  mist  under  the  morning  sunlight.  The  yellow 
light,  too,  from  the  east  gleamed  along  the  peaked  hills 
of  the  islands  on  their  left,  a  drowsy  and  misty  light  that 
blurred  the  horizon  line  where  the  gray-blue  sky  and  the 
gray-blue  water  faded  into  each  other. 

Lord  Earlshope  was  surprised  to  hear  the  Minister 
talk  of  returning  immediately. 

"  We  must,  at  all  events,  show  Miss  Cassilis  the 
wonders  of  Loch  Scavaig  and  Coruisk."  he  said,  "  even 
though  you  should  have  to  go  over  to-morrow  by  Torren 
to  Broadford,  and  catch  the  steamer  there.  We  shall  make 
Loch  Scavaig  this  evening  if  the  wind  does  not  fail  us." 

"1  hope  the  wind  will  play  no  tricks  with  us,"  said 
Lady  Drum.  "  I  shall  never  forget  what  I  suffered  in 
this  very  place  when  I  first  went  to  Skye  many  years  ago, 
indeed,  when  Sir  Peter  and  I  were  just  married." 

"  You  might  wait  a  couple  of  months  without  catch- 
ing such  a  chance  as  we  have  to-day,"  said  Lord  Earls- 
hope.  u  But  to  return  to  this  question  of  your  stay. 
Don't  you  mean  to  visit  the  Spar  Cave,  and  go  up  Glen 
Sligachan,  and  ascend  the  Quiraing  ?  " 

It  was  with  a  dull  sense  of»  pain  that  Coquette  heard 
the  reply.  The  Minister  said  there  was  no  absolute  hurry, 
that  his  niece  would  probably  like  to  visit  those  wild  and 
romantic  scenes  of  which  she  must  have  heard  and  read. 
Coquette  accepted  her  fate  mutely  ;  but  she  took  the  op- 
portunity of  saying,  a  few  minutes  afterwards,  to  Lady 
Drum. 

"  I  hope  we  shall  not  stay  long  in  this  place,  this  wild 


1 7  8  A  DA  UGHTER  OF  HE  TH. 

island.     It  must  be  horrible  and  ghastly,  from  what  the} 
say." 

"  It  is  the  most  desolate  and  awful  place  it  is  possi- 
ble to  imagine,"  said  Lady  Drum  ;  "  a  place  that  reminds 
you  o'  a  world  that  had  long  ago  suffered  a  judgment-day, 
and  been  burned  up  wi}  fire.  For  days  after  I  saw  it  first 
I  used  to  dream  about  it,  the  black  and  still  water,  and 
the  twisted  rocks  and  the  stillness  o'  the  place.  It  would 
be  fearfu'  to  be  left  alone  there  at  night,  wi'  the  sound 
o'  the  burns  running  in  the  darkness." 

Coquette  shuddered. 

"  I  will  not  go  ashore,"  she  said.  "  There  is  no  reason 
for  our  going  ashore,  if  we  must  get  back  at  once  to 
Airlie." 

So  the  day  wore  on,  and  the  stately  Caroline,  with  her 
bow  coquettishly  dipping  to  the  waves,  drew  gradually  to- 
wards the  north,  passing  the  broad  mouth  of  the  Sound  of 
Sleat,  and  coming  in  view  of  the  sharp  rocks  of  Canna,  be- 
yond the  mountains  of  Rum  Island.  They  were  now  close 
by  the  southern  shores  of  Skye.  Coquette  became  more 
and  more  disturbed.  It  seemed  to  her  that  she  was  being 
taken  to  some  gloomy  prison,  from  which  no  escape  was 
possible.  Lady  Drum  continued  to  describe  the  sombre 
and  desolated  appearance  of  the  place  they  were  going 
to,  until  these  pictures  produced  the  most  profound  effect 
on  the  girl's  imagination.  The  Caroline  seemed  to  go 
forward  through  the  water  with  a  relentless  persistency, 
and  Coquette,  as  the  afternoon  approached,  and  she  saw 
far  in  the  north  the  misty  outlines  of  the  shore  towards 
which  they  were  tending,  gave  way  to  an  unreasoning, 
despairing  terror. 

Lady  Drum  was  amazed. 

"  You  are  not  afraid  o'  rocks  and  water  ?  "  she  said. 

"  Afraid  of  them  ?  No,"  said  the  girl.  "  I  am  afraid 
of  the  place,  I  know  not  why,  and  of  our  remaining  there. 
I  would  rather  be  away ;  I  would  rather  be  going  back. 
It  is  a  presentiment  I  have.  I  cannot  understand  it,  but 
it  makes  me  tremble." 

"  That  is  foolish/'  said  Lady  Drum.  "  You  have  not 
been  yourself  since  your  cousin  left." 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETlf. 


179 


"  I  wish  he  were  here  now,"  murmured  Coquette. 

"  He  would  laugh  you  out  of  your  fears,"  said  the 
elderly  lady,  in  a  cheerful  way.  "  Come,  rouse  yourself 
up,  and  dismiss  those  gloomy  fancies  of  yours.  We 
shall  see  you  to-morrow  on  a  little  Highland  pony,  going 
around  such  precipices  as  are  fit  to  take  your  breath 
away  ;  and  you  will  be  as  light-hearted  and  as  careless  as 
if  you  were  in  my  drawing-room  at  Castle  Cawmil,  with 
an  open  piano  before  you.  By  the  way,  you  have  not 
played  us  anything  since  your  cousin  left  us  at  Oban." 

"  I  cannot  play  just  now,"  said  Coquette,  sitting  calm 
and  cold,  with  her  eyes  fixed  with  a  vague  apprehensive- 
ness  on  the  coast  they  were  drawing  near. 

"  What  a  strange  creature  you  are,"  said  Lady  Drum, 
affectionately.  "  You  are  either  all  fire  and  sunshine, 
or  as  deep  and  morose  as  a  well  on  a  dark  day.  There 
is  Lord  Earlshope,  who,  I  am  certain,  thinks  he  has 
offended  you  ;  and  he  keeps  at  a  distance,  and  watches 
ye  in  a  penitent  fashion,  as  if  he  would  give  his  ears-  to 
see  you  laugh  again.  I  think  I  maun  explain  to  him 
that  it  is  no  his  fault " 

"  No,  no,  no,  Lady  Drum  !  "  exclaimed  Coquette,  in 
a  low  voice.  "  You  must  not  speak  to  him." 

"  Hoity  toity !  Is  he  to  believe  that  I  have  quar- 
relled wi'  him  as  well ;  and  are  we  a'  to  put  the  man  in 
irons  in  his  own  yacht?  " 

"  Please  don't  tell  him  anything  about  me,"  pleaded 
Coquette. 

"  But  look  at  him  at  this  moment,"  said  Lady  Drum, 
with  sudden  compassion ;  "  look  at  him  up  at  the  bow 
there,  standing  all  by  himself,  without  a  human  being 
taking  notice  o'  him,  looking  helplessly  at  naething, 
and  doubtless  wondering  whether  he  will  get  a  word  ad- 
dressed to  him  at  dinner.  Is  it  fair,  rny  young  lady,  to 
serve  a  man  in  that  fashion  in  his  own  boat? " 

"  You  may  go  and  speak  to  him,"  said  Coquette, 
eagerly.  "  Yes,  you  must  speak  to  him,  but  not  about 
me.  He  does  not  want  to  talk  about  me  ;  and  you 
would  only  put  wrong  things  into  his  head.  Please  go, 
Lady  Drum,  and  talk  xo  him," 


jgo  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

"  And  what  for  should  it  rest  on  an  old  woman  like 
me  to  amuse  a  young  man  !  What  for  am  I  to  talk  to 
him,  and  ye  sitting  here  as  mute  and  as  mum  as  a 
mouse  ? " 

"  Because,  because,"  said  Coquette,  with  hesitation, 
"  because  I  think  I  am  afraid  of  this  island.  I  am  not 
angry  with  him,  with  anybody,  but  I — I —  Oh,  Lady 
Drum  ! ''  she  suddenly  exclaimed,  "won't you  persuade 
them  to  come  away  from  this  place  at  once,  instead  of  re- 
maining for  days?  I  cannot  do  it — I  cannot  remain.  I 
will  go  away  by  myself,  if  they  will  let  me  take  the 
steamer." 

She  spoke  quite  wildly,  and  Lady  Drum  looked  at 
her  with  some  alarm. 

4<  I  cannot  understand  a  bit  o'  this,"  she  said  gravely. 
"  What  for  have  ye  a  fear  o'  an  island  ?  Or  is  it  that 
ye  are  so  anxious  to  follow  your  cousin  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  tell  you  what  it  is,"  said  Coquette,  "  for  I 
cannot  explain  in  your  language.  It  is  a  presentiment, 
a  terror,  I  do  not  know  ;  I  only  know  that  if  we  remain 
in  this  island  long " 

She  trembled  so  violently  as  she  spoke  that  Lady 
Drum  feared  the  girl  had  been  attacked  by  some  nerv- 
ous fever.  Her  face,  too,  was  pale  ;  and  the  dark  and 
beautiful  eyes  were  full  of  a  strange  lustre,  obviously 
the  result  of  great  excitement. 

At  this  moment  some  order  of  the  skipper  recalled 
the  eyes  of  Coquette  from  looking  vaguely  over  the  sea 
towards  the  south  ;  and  as  she  turned  her  face  to  the 
bow,  Lady  Drum  felt  the  hand  that  held  hers,  tighten 
its  grasp,  for  the  Caroline  was  slowly  creeping  in  and 
under  the  gloom  of  the  weird  Cuchullin  Hills. 


A  DA  UGIfTER  OF  HE  7  Y/.  1 8 1 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

CONFESSION   AT   LAST. 

SUNSET  in  the  wild  Loch  Scavaig.  Far  up  amid  the 
shoulders  and  peaks  of  Garsven  there  were  flashes  of 
flame  and  the  glow  of  the  western  skies,  with  here  and 
there  a  beam  of  ruddy  and  misty  light  touching  the  sum- 
mits of  the  mountains  in  the  east ;  but  down  here,  in 
the  black  and  desolate  lake,  the  bare  and  riven  rocks 
showed  their  fantastic  forms  in  a  cold  gray  twilight. 
There  was  a  murmur  of  streams  in  the  stillness,  and  the 
hollow  silence  was  broken  from  time  to  time  by  the  call 
of  wild-fowl.  Otherwise  the  desolate  scene  was  as 
silent  as  death,  and  the  only  moving  thing  abroad  was 
the  red  light  in  the  clouds.  The  Caroline  lay  motion- 
less in  the  dark  water.  As  the  sunset  fell  the  moun- 
tains seemed  to  grow  larger  ;  the  twisted  and  precipitous 
cliffs  that  shot  down  into  the  sea  grew  more  and  more 
distant ;  while  a  pale  blue  vapor  gathered  here  and 
there,  as  if  the  spirits  of  the  mountains  were  advancing 
under  a  veil. 

Oddly  enough,  the  terror  of  Coquette  had  largely 
subsided  when  the  Caroline  had  cast  anchor.  She  re- 
garded the  gloomy  shores  with  aversion  and  distrust ; 
•but  she  no  longer  trembled.  Indeed,  the  place  seemed 
to  have  exercised  some  fascination  over  her ;  for, 
while  all  the  others  were  busy  with  their  own  affairs,  she 
did  not  cease  to  scan  with  strange  and  wondering  eyes 
the  sombre  stretch  of  water,  the  picturesque  and  desolate 
shore,  and  the  mystic  splendors  of  the  twilight  overhead. 
She  kept  apart  from  her  friends,  and  seemed  even  to  re- 
gard Lady  Drum  with  a  distant  and  apprehensive  look. 

Lady  Drum  resolved  that  she  would  speak  to  the 
Minister  when  occasion  offered.  She  was  afraid  that 


jS2  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

this  niece  of  his  was  an  incomprehensible  young  person, 
given  over  to  visions  and  dreams,  and  requiring  to  be 
kept  well  in  hand. 

Dinner  was  rather  a  gloomy  affair.  Lord  Earlshope 
seemed  to  consider  that,  for  some  reason  or  other,  a  con- 
spiracy had  been  formed  against  him.  He  was  very 
courteous  and  quiet,  but  spoke  chiefly  to  the  Minister, 
and  that  somewhat  formally.  Lady  Drum  in  vain  en- 
deavored to  be  lively. 

Suddenly  the  Minister  seemed  to  perceive  that  there 
was  something  wrong.  He  looked  from  one  to  the  other  ; 
and  at  last  he  said, — 

"  This  wild  scenery  has  had  its  effect  upon  us.  We 
have  grown  very  grave,  have  we  not,  Lady  Drum  ?  " 

"  I  think  we  are  downright  solemn,"  said  Lady  Drum, 
waking  herself  up  as  if  from  a  nightmare.  "  I  cannot 
understand  it.  Miss  Coquette,  as  I  am  told  they  some- 
times ca'  ye,  what  does  it  all  mean  ?  " 

Coquette  looked  up  with  a  start. 

"  I  do  not  know,"  she  said.  "  To  me  these  hills  look 
dreadful  I  am  afraid  of  them.  I  should  be  glad  to  be 
away." 

Lord  Earlshope  did  not  reply  to  her,  or  endeavor  to 
reason  her  out  of  her  vague  impressions.  On  the  con- 
trary, he  regarded  her,  when  no  one  else  was  looking, 
with  a  watchful  and  rather  wistful  scrutiny,  which 
seemed  to  leave  rather  a  sad  impression  on  his  own  face. 

The  night  was  cold,  and,  after  dinner,  no  one  pro- 
posed to  go  on  deck.  Indeed,  the  autumn  was  rapidly 
closing  in  upon  them  ;  and  there  was  comfort  in  the  yel- 
low light  of  the  lamps,  the  warmth,  and  the  open  books 
down  below.  Lord  Earlshope  and  Lady  Drum  proceeded 
to  engage  in  a  game  of  cribbage  ;  the  Minister  took  up 
a  bundle  of  manuscripts ;  Coquette  receded  into  a 
corner. 

Then  she  stole  out  of  the  place,  and  went  upon  deck 
How  wonderful  was  the  darkness  now  !  for  it  seemed  to 
burn  with  all  manner  of  weird  and  fanciful  lights.     There 
were  white  stars  dancing  on  the  water,  one  great  planet 
quivering  on  the  dark  plain  as  if  it  were  a  moon.     The 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH.  183 

moon  itself  was  a  thin  sickle  down  in  the  south,  far  a- 
way  in  a  mystic  world  of  green.  Then  over  the  peaks 
of  the  Cuchullins  there  still  lay  the  lambent  traces  of 
the  twilight,  a  pale,  metallic,  yellow  glow,  which  was  far 
too  faint  to  show  on  the  black  surface  of  the  sea.  A 
wind  had  sprung  up,  too,  and  it  brought  with  it  the  sound 
of  the  mountain  streams  from  out  of  the  solemn  stillness 
of  the  night. 

There  came  into  her  head  the  refrain  of  a  song  which 
she  used  to  hear  the  sailors  sing  in  St.  Naziire, — 

"  Apres  trors  ans  d'  absence 
Loin  de  France, 
Ah  !  quel  beau  jour, 
Que  le  jour  du  retour  !  " 

"Why  cannot  I  go  back  there  ?"  she  murmured  to 
herself.  "  where  there  was  no  miserable  days,  no  miser- 
able nights  ?  I  am  terrified  of  this  place,  of  the  people, 
of  what  I  have  become  myself.  If  I  could  only  fly  away 
down  to  the  South,  and  hear  them  singing  that  on  the 
Loire, — 

'  Ah  !  quel  beau  jour, 
Que  le  jour  de  retour  J'K 

that  is  what  I  would  say  also,  when  I  saw  old  Nanette 
come  out  running  to  see  me,  and  she  would  laugh  and 
she  would  cry  to  see  me." 

The  tears  were  running  down  her  cheeks.  Suddenly 
there  stood  by  her  a  tall  figure  in  the  darkness,  and  she 
started  to  hear  her  own  name  pronounced. 

"  Why  do  you  sit  up  here  alone,  Miss  Cassilis  ? " 
said  Lord  Earlshope. 

She  could  not  answer.  He  took  a  seat  beside  her, 
and  said, — 

"  There  is  another  question  I  want  to  ask  you.  Why 
have  you  avoided  me  these  two  days,  and  made  me  as 
though  I  were  a  stranger  to  you  ?  Let  us  be  frank  with 
each  other.  Are  you  vexed  with  me  because,  in  a  mo- 
ment of  foolishness  which  I  deeply  regret,  I  revealed 
to  you  a  secret  which  I  ought  to  have  kept  to  myself  ?  " 


1 8  4  A  DA  UG  HTER.  OF  HE  TIT. 

4<  I  atn  not  vexed,''  she  said,  in  a  low  voice.  "  You 
must  not  suppose  that." 

"  But  I  must  suppose  something,"  he  said.  "  Why 
should  I  be  your  bete  noire,  from  whom  you  must  fly  at 
every  conceivable  moment  ?  If  I  appear  on  deck,  you 
seek  refuge  with  Lady  Drum  or  go  feelow.  If  I  go  be- 
low, you  come  on  deck.  If  I  join  in  a  conversation,  you 
become  silent.  Why  should  this  be  so  ?  I  proposed  this 
excursion,  as  you  know,  for  your  especial  benefit.  The 
whole  thing  was  planned  merely  because  it  might  proba- 
bly amuse  you,  and  yet  you  are  the  only  one  on  board 
who  seems  unhappy.  Why  ?  I  broke  my  compact  about 
returning  to  Airlie  after  seeing  you  a  day  or  two  on  the 
voyage,  partly  through  indolence,  and  partly  because  I 
fancied  I  might  make  matters  smooth  and  pleasant  for 
you  if  you  went  farther.  I  find,  on  the  contrary,  that  I 
have  become  a  sort  of  bogey — a  kill-joy." 

"  Oh,  no,  it  is  not  so  ! "  she  said,  hurriedly.  "  There 
is  no  one  in  fault — no  one  but  myself." 

"But  you  are  not  in  fault,"  he  protested.  "There 
has  been  no  fault  committed,  and  I  want  to  know  how 
the  old  condition  of  affairs  is  to  be  restored.  I  cannot 
bear  to  see  you  suffering  this  restraint  from  morning  till 
night.  Rather  than  have  you  pass  such  another  day  as 
I  know  you  have  passed  to-day,  I  would  row  ashore  this 
moment,  and  take  my  chance  of  getting  lodgings  or 
walking  over  to  Broadford,  so  that  you  should  have  no 
fear  of  to-morrow." 

*'  Oh,  no,  no  !  "  she  said,  in  despair  ;  "you  must  not 
do  that.  And  you  must  not  suppose  that  I  am  angry 
with  you.  But  after  what  you  did  say  the  other  day " 

"  That  is  it,"  he  said,  in  a  tone  of  profound  disap- 
pointment. "  I  had  already  fancied  my  careless  talk  was 
a  blunder,  but  I  see  only  now  how  irretrievable  it  is. 
Well,  I  cannot  help  it.  You  shall  not  suffer  the  penalty 
of  my  stupidity,  however.  To-morrow  morning  you  shall 
be  free." 

So  he  went  away  ;  and  she  sat  still,  silent  and  im- 
movable, with  a  great  pain  at  her  heart.  She  listened 
to  the  murmur  of  the  water  along  the  shore,  and  it  seemed 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH.  ^5 

to  have  taken  up  the  refrain  that  had  been  running  in 
her  memory,  only  that  it  was  more  vague  and  more  sad. 
"  Trots  ans  d 'absence.  .  .  .  loin  de  Fiance.  .  .  .jourdu  re- 
tour  !  "  Again  she  was  startled  by  the  approach  of  some 
one.  She  knew  that  Lord  Earlshope  had  returned.  He 
brought  with  him  a  thick  shawl,  and  he  said  in  a  some- 
what formal  and  courteous  way, — 

"  Lady  Drum  asks  you  to  put  this  around  you,  if  you 
prefer  to  remain  on  deck.  But  the  night  is  chilly,  and 
you  ought  to  go  below,  I  think." 

"  I  do  not  know  why  you  should  speak  to  me  in  that 
tone,"  she  said,  with  some  slight  touch  of  reproach  in 
her  voice.  "  If  all  this  unfortunate  thing  has  happened, 
why  make  it  worse  ?  I  hope  you  will  not  make  us 
strangers  to  each  other,  or  think  me  ungrateful  for  all 
the  kindness  that  you  did  show  to  me." 

For  an  instant  he  stood  irresolute,  and  then  he  said 
to  her — in  so  low  a  voice  that  it  was  scarcely  heard  in 
the  murmur  of  the  sea, — 

"  And  I  have  to  thank  you  for  something  also.  You 
have  given  me  back  a  little  of  my  old  belief  in  the  sweet- 
ness and  innocence  of  good  women,  and  in  the  noble- 
ness and  the  mystery  of  human  life.  That  is  not  a  light 
matter.  It  is  something  to  have  some  of  one's  old  faith 
back  again,  however  dearly  it  may  be  bought.  The  price 
has  been  perhaps  heavier  than  you  may  have  imagined. 
I  have  striven  this  day  or  two  back  to  make  you  believe 
that  I  had  almost  forgotten  what  I  told  you.  I  shall 
never  forget  it — nor  do  I  wish  to.  I  may  tell  you  that 
now,  when  I  am  about  to  ask  you  to  say  good-bye.  It 
is  not  for  you  to  be  annoyed  or  troubled  with  such 
matters.  You  will  go  back  to  Airlie.  You  will  scarcely 
remember  that  I  ever  told  you  my  wretched  and  foolish 
story.  But  I  shall  not  go  back  to  Airlie — at  least  not 
for  a  while  ;  and  when  we  do  meet  again,  I  hope  you  will 
have  forgotten  all  this,  and  will  not  be  afraid  to  meet  me. 
So  good-bye  now,  for  I  shall  not  see  you  in  the  morn- 
ing." 

He  held  out  his  hand,  but  she  made  no  response. 
What  was  it  he  heard  in  the  stillness  of  the  night  ? 


!  8  6  A  DA  UGHTER  OF  HE  TH> 

Moved  by  a  great  fear,  he  knelt  down  beside  her,  and 
looked  into  her  face.  Her  eyes  were  filled  with  tears, 
and  the  sound  he"  had  heard  was  that  of  a  low  and  bitter 
sobbing.  There  broke  upon  him  a  revelation  far  more 
terrible  than  that  which  had  informed  him  of  his  own 
sorrow,  and  it  was  with  a  new  anxiety  in  his  voice  that 
he  said  to  her, — 

"  Why  are  you  distressed  ?  It  is  nothing  to  you — my 
going  away  ?  It  cannot  be  anything  to  you,  surely  ?  " 

"  It  is  very  much — your  going  away,"  she  said,  with 
a  calmness  of  despair  which  startled  him.  "  I  cannot 
bear  it.  And  yet  you  must  go — and  never  see  me  again. 
That  will  be  better  for  you  and  for  me." 

He  rose  to  his  feet  suddenly,  and  even  in  the  star- 
light her  tearful  and  upturned  eyes  saw  that  his  face 
was  ghastly  pale. 

"  What  have  I  done  ?  What  have  I  done  ? "  he  ex- 
claimed, as  if  accusing  himself  to  the  still  heavens  that 
burned  with  their  countless  stars  above  him.  "  My 
own  blunders,  my  own  weakness,  I  can  answer  for,  I 
can  accept  my  punishment ;  but  if  this  poor  girl  has 
been  made  to  suffer  through  me,  that  is  more  than  I 
can  bear.  Coquette — Coquette,  tell  me  you  do  not 
mean  all  this.  You  cannot  mean  it,  you  do  not  under- 
stand my  position,  you  tell  me  what  it  is  madness  to 
think  of  !  What  you  say  would  be  to  any  other  man  a 
joy  unspeakable,  the  beginning  of  a  new  life  to  him  ; 
but  to  me " 

He  shuddered  only,  and  turned  away  from  her. 
She  rose,  and  took  his  hand  gently,  and  said  to  him,  in 
her  low,  quiet  voice, — , 

"  I  do  not  know  what  you  mean,  but  you  must  not 
accuse  yourself  for  me,  or  give  yourself  pain.  I  have 
made  a  confession,  it  was  right  to  do  that,  for  you  were 
going  away,  and  you  might  have  gone  with  a  wrong 
thought  of  me,  and  have  looked  back  and  said  I  was 
ungrateful.  Now  you  will  go  away  knowing  that  I  am 
still  your  friend,  that  I  shall  think  of  you  sometimes, 
and  that  I  shall  pray  never,  never  to  see  you  any  more 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH.  jS; 

until  we  are  old  people,  and  we  may  meet  and  laugh 
at  the  old  stupid  folly." 

There  was  a  calm  sadness  in  her  tone  that  was  very 
litter  to  him,  and  the  next  moment  he  was  saying  to 
her,  in  a  most  a  wild  way, — , 

"  It  shall  not  end  thus.  Let  the  past  be  past,  Co- 
quette, and  the  future  ours.  Look  at  the  sea  out  there, 
far  Tway  beyond  that  you  and  I  may  begin  a  new  life  ; 
and  the  sea  itself  shall  wash  out  all  that  we  want  to 
forget.  Will  you  come,  Coquette  ?  Will  you  give  up 
all  your  pretty  ways,  and  your  quiet  home,  and  your 
amiable  friends,  to  link  yourself  to  a  desperate  man, 
and  snatch  the  joy  that  the  people  in  this  country 
would  deny  us  ?  Let  us  seek  a  new  country  for  our- 
selves. You  love  me,  my  poor  girl,  don't  you?  and 
see  my  hand  trembles  with  the  thought  of  being  able 
to  take  you  away,  and  fight  for  you,  and  make  for  you 
a  new  world,  with  new  surroundings,  where  you  would 
have  but  one  friend  and  one  slave.  What  do  you  say, 
Coquette  ?  Why  should  we  two  be  forever  miserable  ? 
Coquette — ! " 

She  drew  back  from  him  in  fear. 

"  I  am  afraid  of  you  now,"  she  said,  with  a  strange 
shudder.  "  You  are  another  man.  What  are  you  ? 
what  are  you  ?  Ah  !  I  do  see  another  face " 

She  staggered  backward,  and  then,  with  a  quick, 
wild  cry,  fell  insensible.  He  sprang  forward  to  catch 
her,  and  he  had  scarcely  done  so  when  the  Minister 
hastily  approached. 

"  What  is  the  meaning  of  this  ? "  he  said. 

"  She  has  been  sitting  too  long  alone,"  said  Lord 
Earlshope,  as  Lady  Drum  came  quietly  forward  to 
seize  the  girl's  hands.  "  The  darkness  had  got  hold  of 
her  imagination,  and  that  wild  light  up  there " 

For  at  this  moment  there  appeared  over  the  black 
peaks  of  the  Cuchullins  a  great  shifting  flush  of  pink, 
that  shone  up  the  dark  skies  and  then  died  out  in  a  circle 
of  pale  violet  fire.  In  the  clear  heavens  this  wild  glare 
gleamed  and  faded,  so  that  the  sea  also  had  its  pallid 
colors  blotting  out  the  white  points  of  the  stars.  Mr. 


1 88  A  DAUGHTER  OF  11ETH. 

Cassilis  paid  little  attention  to  the  explanation,  but 
it  seemed  reasonable  enough ;  for  the  girl,  on  com- 
ing to  herself,  looked  all  around  at  this  strange  glow 
of  rose-color  overhead,  and  again  shuddered  violently. 

"  She  has  been  nervous  all  day,"  said  Lady  Drum  ; 
"  she  should  not  have  been  left  alone." 

They  took  her  down  below,  but  Lord  Earlshope 
remained  above.  In  a  little  while  he  went  down  into 
the  saloon,  where  Mr.  Cassilis  sat  alone,  reading. 

"  Miss  Cassilis  will  be  well  in  the  morning,  I  hope," 
he  said,  somewhat  distantly. 

"  Oh,  doubtless,  doubtless.  She  is  nervous  and 
excitable,  as  her  father  was,  but  it  is  nothing  serious." 

"  I  hope  not,"  said  Lord  Earlshope. 

He  took  out  writing  materials,  and  hastily  wrote  a 
few  lines  on  a  sheet  of  paper,  which  he  folded  up  and 
put  in  an  envelope.  Then  he  bade  Mr.  Cassilis  good- 
night, and  retired. 

But  towards  midnight  Coquette,  lying  awake,  heard 
cautious  footsteps  on  deck,  and  the  whispering  voices 
of  the  men.  In  the  extreme  silence  her  sense  of  hear- 
ing was  painfully  acute.  She  fancied  she  heard  one  of 
the  boats  being  brought  round.  There  was  a  moment's 
silence,  then  the  words,  "  Give  way !'' followed  by  a 
splash  of  oars. 

She  knew  that  Lord  Earlshope  was  in  the  boat 
which  was  now  making  for  the  shore  through  the  dark- 
ness of  the  night.  All  that  had  occurred  on  deck 
seemed  now  but  a  wild  dream.  She  knew  only  that  he 
had  left  them,  perhaps  never  to  see  her  again  in  this 
world ;  she  knew  only  that  her  heart  was  full  of  sorrow, 
and  that  her  fast-flowing  tears  could  not  lessen  the 
aching  pain. 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETIl-  189 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

"LOIN  DE  FRANCE.'* 

A  DULL  gray  day  lay  over  Loch  Scavaig.  A  cold, 
wind  came  in  from  the  sea,  and  moaned  about  the  steep 
rocks,  the  desolate  hills,  and  the  dark  water.  The  wild 
fowl  were  more  than  usually  active,  circling  about  in 
flocks,  restless  and  noisy,  There  were  signs  of  a  change 
in  the  weather,  and  it  was  a  change  for  the  worse. 

Mr.  Cassilis  was  the  first  on  deck. 

"  Please,  sir,"  said  the  skipper,  coming  forward  to 
him,  "  his  Lordship  bade  me  say  to  ye  that  he  had  to 
leave  early  this  morning  to  catch  the  steamer,  and  didna 
want  to  disturb  ye.  His  Lordship  hoped,  sir,  you  and 
my  lady  would  consider  the  yacht  your  own  while  ye 
stayed  in  it,  and  I  will  take  your  orders  for  anywhere 
you  please." 

"  What  a  strange  young  man  !  "  said  the  Minister  to 
himself,  as  he  turned  away. 

He  met  Lady  Drum,  and  told  her  what  he  had 
heard. 

"  He  is  fair  daft,"  said  the  elderly  lady,  with  some 
impatience.  "  To  think  of  bringing  us  up  nere  to  this 
outlandish  place,  and  leaving  us  without  a  word  o* 
apology  ;  but  he  was  never  to  be  reckoned  on.  I  have 
seen  him  get  into  a  frightful  temper,  and  walk  out  o'  my 
house,  just  because  a  young  leddy  friend  o'  mine  would 
maintain  that  he  looked  like  a  married  man." 

"  How  is  my  niece  ? "  said  the  Minister. 

"  I  was  about  to  tell  ye,  sir,"  returned  Lady  Drum, 
in  a  cautious  and  observant  way,  "  that  she  is  still  a  little 
feverish  and  excited.  I  can  see  it  in  her  restlessness 
and  her  look.  It  must  have  been  coming  on  ;  and  last 
night,  -\vi'  the  darkness  and  the  wildness  o'  this  fearsome 
place,  and  the  red  Northern  Lights  in  the  sky,  it  is  no 
wonder  she  gave  way." 


190 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HE  Th. 


"  But  I  hope  it  is  not  serious,"  said  the  Minister 
hastily.  "  I  know  so  little  of  these  ailments  that  I  must 
ask  ye  to  be  mindful  o'  her,  as  if  she  were  your  ain  bairn 
and  do  with  her  what  ye  think  proper.  Is  she  coming 
on  deck  ? " 

"  No,''  said  Lady  Drum,  carefully  watching  the  effect 
of  her  speech  as  she  proceeded.  "  She  will  be  better  to 
lie  quiet  for  the  day.  But  we  maun  guard  against  her 
having  another  shock.  We  must  get  away  from  here, 
sir,  directly." 

"  To  be  sure,  to  be  sure,"  said  the  Minister,  almost 
mechanically.  "  Where  shall  we  go  ?  " 

"  Let  us  go  straight  back  to  Oban,  and  from  there 
perhaps  Miss  Cassilis  would  prefer  to  go  back  to  Green- 
ock  by  way  of  the  steamer/' 

The  skipper  received  his  orders.  Fortunateiy,  al- 
though the  day  was  lowering  and  dismal,  the  wind  did 
not  rise,  and  they  had  a  comparatively  smooth  passage 
southward.  The  Minister  remained  on  deck,  anxious 
and  disturbed  ;  Lady  Drum  was  in  attendance  on  Co- 
quette. 

The  Minister  grew  impatient  and  a  trifle  alarmed 
when  no  news  came  from  his  niece.  At  last  he  went 
below  and  knocked  at  the  door  of  her  state-room.  Lady 
Drum  came  out,  shut  the  door  behind  her,  and  went 
with  the  Minister  into  the  saloon. 

"  But  how  is  she  ?  "  said  he.  "  Why  does  she  keep 
to  her  room  if  she  can  come  out  ?  " 

Lady  Drum  was  evidently  annoyed  and  embarrassed 
by  these  questions,  and  answered  them  in  a  hesitating 
and  shuffling  way.  At  length  she  said  somewhat  in- 
sidiously,— 

"  Ye  do  not  understand  French,  Mr.  Cassilis  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  the  Minister  ;  "  I  have  never  studied  the 
language  of  a  nation  whose  history  is  not  pleasant  to 
me." 

"  I  once  knew  plenty  of  French,"  said  Lady  Drum, 
"  and  even  now  manage  to  get  through  A  letter  to  my 
friends  in  Paris  ;  but  her  xapid  talk, " 

"  Whose  rapid  talk?"  said  the  Minister. 


A  DA  UGHTER  OF  HE  TH.  j  Q  i 


"  Why,  your  niece- 


"  Does  she  talk  French  ?  "  said  he. 

Lady  Drum  bit  her  lip  and  was  silent ;  she  had  blurted 
out  too  much. 

"  You  do  not  mean  to  say  that  Catherine  is  deliri- 
ous ? "  said  the  Minister,  suddenly  standing  up  with  a 
pale  face,  as  if  to  meet  and  defy  the  worst  news  that 
could  reach  him. 

Lady  Drnm  hurriedly  endeavored  to  pacify  him.  It 
was  nothing.  It  was  but  a  temporary  excitement.  She 
would  recover  with  a  little  rest.  But  this  tal-l,  sad-faced 
man  would  hear  none  of  these  explanations.  He  passed 
Lady  Drum,  walked  along  and  entered  the  state-room, 
and  stood  by  the  little  bed  where  his  niece  lay. 

She  saw  him  enter,  and  there  was  a  smile  of  welcome 
on  her  pale  face.  Perhaps  it  was  the  twilight,  or  the  ex- 
ceeding darkness  and  lustre  of  the  eyes  which  were 
fixed  upon  him,  which  made  her  look  so  pale  ;  but  her 
appearance  then,  with  her  wild  dark  hair  lying  loosely 
on  the  white  pillow,  struck  him  acutely  with  a  sense  of 
vague  foreboding  and  pain. 

"  Is  it  you,  papa  ? "  she  said,  quietly,  and  yet  with  a 
strange  look  on  her  face.  "  Since  I  have  been  ill,  I  have 
been  learning  English  to  speak  to  you,  and  I  can  speak 
it  very  well.  Only  Nan-ette  does  not  seem  to  understand, 
she  tires  me,  you  must  send  her  away " 

With  a  weary  look  she  let  her  face  sink  into  the  pil- 
low. 

"  Catherine,"  said  the  Minister,  with  a  great  fear  at 
his  heart,  "  don't  you  know  me  ?" 

She  did  not  answer  or  pay  any  attention  for  a.  few 
seconds,  and  then  she  said, — 

"  Yes,  of  course  I  know.  But  you  must  teach  me 
how  to  sleep,  papa,  for  there  is  a  noise  all  around  me, 
and  I  cannot  sleep.  It  is  like  waves,  and  my  head  is 
giddy,  and  rocks  with  it  and  with  the  music.  You  must 
keep  Nanette  from  singing,  papa,  it  vexes  me,  and  it  is 
always  the  same — tiois  ans  a' absence — loin  de  France — 
a/i,  qnel  beau  j out  / — and  I  hear  it  far  away — always 
Nanette  singing " 


I92  A  DAUGH7^ER  OF  HETH. 

Lac.y  Drum  stole  in  behind  the  Minister,  and  laid  her 
hand  on  his  arm. 

"You  must  not  be  alarmed,"  she  whispered.  "This 
is  nothing  but  the  excitement  of  yesterday,  and  she  may 
have  caught  a  cold  and  made  herself  subject  to  a  slight 
fever." 

The  Minister  said  nothing,  but  stood  in  a  dazed  way, 
looking  at  the  girl  with  his  sad  gray  eyes,  and  apparently 
scarcely  able  to  realize  the  scene  before  him. 

"When  shall  we  reach  Tobermory?"  he  asked,  at 
length. 

"  In  about  two  hours,"  said  Lady  Drum. 

The  girl  had  overheard,  for  she  continued  to  murmur, 
almost  to  herself, — 

"  Shall  we  be  home  again,  papa,  in  two  hours,  and  go 
up  past  St.  Nazaire  ?  It  is  a  long  time  since  we  were 
there,  so  long  ago  it  seems  a  mist,  and  we  have  been  in 
the  darkness.  Ah  !  the  darkness  of  last  night  out  on  the 
sea,  with  the  wild  things  in  the  air, — the  wild  things  in 
the  air,  and  the  waves  crying  along  the  shore.  It  is 
three  years  of  absence,  and  we  have  been  away  in  dreadful 
places,  but  now  there  is  home  again,  papa,  home,  and 
Nannette  is  singing  merrily  now  in  the  garden  and  my 
mamma  does  come  to  the  gate.  Why  does  she  not  speak  ? 
Why  does  she  go  away  ?  Does  she  not  know  me  any 
more — not  know  her  little  Coquette  ?  But  see  !  papa,  it 
is  all  going  away  :  the  garden  is  going  back  and  back, 
my  mamma  has  turned  her  face  away,  and  I  can  scarcely 
see  her  for  the  darkness,  have  we  not  got  home,  not  yet, 
after  all?  for  it  is  away  now  in  the  mist,  and  I  can  see 
nothing,  and  not  even  hear  Nanette  singing." 

The  Minister  took  the  girl's  hand  in  his  ;  great  tears 
were  running  down  his  cheeks,  and  his  voice  was  broken 
with  sobs. 

"  My  girl,  we  shall  be  home  presently.     Do  not  dis 
tress  yourself  about  it ;  lie  still,  the  boat  is  carrying  you 
safely  home." 

He  went  on  deck ;  he  could  not  bear  to  look  any 
more  on  the  beautiful,  wistful  eye$  that  seemed  to  him 
full  of  entreaty.  They  carried  a  cruel  message  to  him, 


A  DAUGHTtt  VF  HE  Til. 


193 


like  the  dumb  look  of  pain  that  is  in  an  animal's  eyes 
when  it  seeks  relief  and  none  can  be  given.  Impatiently 
he  watched  the  yacht  go  down  through  the  desolate 
waste  of  gray  sea,  the  successive  headlands  and  bays 
slowly  opening  out  as  she  sped  on.  He  paced  up  and 
down  the  narrow  strip  of  deck,  wearing  for  the  boat  to 
get  around  Ardnamurchan.  It  was  clearly  impossible 
for  them  to  reach  Oban  that  night  ;  but  surely  there 
would  be  a  doctor  in  Tobermory,  who  could  give  Lady 
Drum  sufficient  directions. 

The  evening  was  getting  dusk  as  they  bore  down 
upon  the  Sound  of  Mull.  Coquette  had  fallen  into  a 
deep  sleep,  and  her  constant  nurse  and  attendant  was  re- 
joiced. The  Minister,  however,  was  not  a  whit  less  anx- 
ious, and  it  was  with  eager  eyes  that  he  scanned  the 
narrowing  distance  between  the  prow  of  the  yacht  and 
Tobermory  Bay.  At  length  the  Caroline  reached  her 
berth  for  the  night,  and  the  anchor  was  scarcely  let  go 
when  the  Minister  got  into  the  pinnace  and  was  rapidly 
rowed  ashore.  A  few  minutes  afterwards  he  was  again 
in  the  boat,  carrying  with  him  the  doctor ;  while  Lady 
Drum  had  gone  on  deck  to  see  that  the  sailors  postponed 
the  more  noisy  of  their  operations  until  Coquette  should 
have  awoke  from  her  slumbers. 

The  Minister's  first  notion  that  was  his  niece  should 
be  taken  ashore  as  soon  as  they  got  near  a  habitable 
house.  But,  apart  from  the  danger  of  the  removal,  could 
she  be  better  situated  in  a  Tobermory  cottage  than  in 
this  little  cabin,  where  she  could  have  the  constant  care 
of  Lady  Drum  ?  The  present  consultation  afforded  him 
some  relief.  It  was  probably  only  a  slight  fever,  the  re- 
sult of  powerful  nervous  excitement  and  temporary  weak- 
ness of  the  system.  She  was  to  remain  where  she  was, 
subject  to  the  assiduous  attentions  of  her  nurse  ;  a  phy- 
sician was  to  be  consulted  when  they  reached  Oban 
and,  if  circumstances  then  warranted  it,  she  might  be' 
gently  taken  south  in  the  yacht  to  her  own  home. 

Next  day,  however,  the  fever  had  somewhat  increased, 
and  the  wild  imaginings,  the  pathetic  appeals,  and  the 
incoherent  ramblings  of  the  girl's  delirium  grew  in  in- 


l  g  4.  A  DA  UGHTER  OF  HE  TH. 

tensity.  The  bizarre  combinations  of  all  her  recent  ex- 
periences were  so  foreign  to  all  probability  that  her 
nurse  paid  but  little  attention  to  them,  although  she  was 
sometimes  deeply  affected  by  the  pathetic  reminiscences 
of  her  charge,  or  by  the  lurid  descriptions  of  dark  sea 
scenes  which  were  apparently  present  to  the  girl's  imag- 
ination with  a  ghastly  distinctness.  Yet  through  all 
these  fantastic  groupings  of  mental  phenomena  there 
ran  a  series  of  references  to  Lord  Earlshope,  which 
Lady  Drum  was  startled  to  find  had  some  consistency. 
They  occurred  in  impossible  combinations  with  other 
persons  and  things  ;  but  they  repeated,  with  a  strange 
persistency,the  same  impressions,  On  the  afternoon  of 
the  day  on  which  they  arrived  at  Oban,  the  physician 
having  come  and  gone,  Coquette  beckoned  her  companion 
to  sit  down  by  her.  She  addressed  her  as  Nanette,  as 
she  generally  did,  mistaking  her  elderly  friend  for  her 
old  nurse. 

"  Listen,  Nanette.  Yesterday  I  did  see  something 
terrible.  I  cannot  forget  it,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice, 
with  her  dark  eyes  apparently  watching  something  in 
the  air  before  her.  "  It  was  Lord  Earlshope  coming 
over  the  sea  to  me,  walking  on  the  water,  and  there 
was  a  glare  of  light  around  him  ;  and  he  seemed  an 
angel  that  had  come  with  a  message,  for  he  held  some- 
thing in  his  hand  to  me,  and  there  was  a  smile  on  his 
face.  You  do  not  know  him,  Nanette,  it  is  no  matter. 
All  this  happened  long  ago,  in  another  country,  and  now 
that  I  am  home  again  it  is  forgotten,  except  when  I 
dream.  Are  you  listening,  poor  old  Nanette  ?  As  he 
came  near  the  boat,  I  held  out  my  hand  to  save  him 
from  the  waves.  Ah  !  the  strange  light  there  was.  It 
seemed  to  grow  day,  although  we  were  up  in  the  north, 
under  the  black  mountains,  and  in  the  shadow  of  the 
night-clouds.  I  held  out  my  hand  to  him,  Nanette  ;  and 
he  had  almost  come  to  me,  and  then — and  then — there 
was  a  change,  and  all  the  light  vanished,  and  he  dropped 
down  into  the  sea,  and  in  place  of  Lord  Earlshope  there 
was  a  fearful  thing,  a  devil,  that  laughed  in  the  water, 
and  swam  around,  and  I  ran  back  for  fear.  There  was 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 


'95 


a  red  light  around  him  in  the  sea,  and  he  laughed,  and 
stretched  up  his  hands.  Oh,  it  was  dreadful — dreadful, 
Nanette ! "  the  girl  continued,  moaning  and  shuddering. 
"  I  cannot  close  my  eyes  but  I  see  it,  and  yet,  where  is 
the  letter  I  got  before  he  sank  into  the  water  ?  " 

She  searched  underneath  her  pillow  for  the  note 
which  Lord  Earlshope  had  left  for  her  on  the  night  be- 
fore he  went.  She  insisted  on  Lady  Drum  reading  it. 
The  old  lady  opened  the  folded  bit  of  paper,  and  read 
the  following  words,  "  /  was  mad  last  night.  I  do  not 
know  what  I  said.  Forgive  me,  for  I  cannot  forgive  my- 
self 

What  should  she  do  with  this  fragment  of  corres- 
pondence which  now  confirmed  her  suspicions  ?  If  she 
were  to  hand  it  back  to  the  girl  it  was  probable  she  might 
in  her  delirium  give  it  to  Mr.  Cassilis,  who  had  enough 
to  surfer  without  it.  After  all,  Lady  Drum  reflected, 
this  note  criminated  no  one ;  it  only  revealed  the  fact 
that  there  was  some  connection  between  Lord  Earls- 
hope's  sudden  departure  and  the  wild  scene  of  the  night 
before.  She  resolved  to  retain  that  note  in  her  posses- 
sion for  the  meantime,  and  give  it  back  to  Coquette 
when  the  girl  should  have  recovered. 

"  May  I  keen  this  message  for  a  little  whil^  "* "  sb" 
asked,  gently 

Coquette  looked  at  it,  and  turned  away  her  heaa  ana 
murmured  to  herself, — 

"  Yes,  yes,  let  it  go,  it  is  the  last  bit  of  what  is  now 
all  past  and  gone.  Why  did  I  ever  go  away  from 
France,  up  to  that  wild  place  in  the  north,  where  the 
night  has  red  fire  in  it,  and  the  sea  is  full  of  strange 
faces  ?  It  is  all  past  and  gone.  Nanette,  Nanette,  have 
1  told  you  of  all  that  I  saw  in  Scotland,  of  the  woman 
who  did  take  my  mother's  crucifix  from  me,  and  the  old 
man  I  used  to  fear,  and  the  Highlander,  and  my  brave 
Cousin  Tom,  and  my  uncle,  and — and  another  who  has 
got  no  name  now !  I  should  not  have  gone  there,  away 
from  you,  my  poor,  old  Nanette,  but  now  it  is  all  over, 
and  1  am  come  home  again.  How  pleasant  it  is  to  be  in 
the  warm  south  again,  Nanette  !  I  shall  never  leave 


,96  A  DAUGHTER  OF  IIETtL 

France  any  more,  I  will  stay  here,  under  the  bright  skies, 
and  we  shall  go  down  to  the  river,  as  we  used  to  do,  and 
you  will  sing  to  me.  Nanette,  Nanette,  it  is  a  pretty  song, 
but  so  very  sad  ;  do  you  not  know  that  this  is  the  day  of 
our  return  to  France,  that  we  are  at  home  now,  at 
home  ? " 


CHAPTER   XXVIII. 

AFTER    MANY   DAYS. 

IT  was  a  Sunday  morning  in  winter.  For  nearly  a 
fortnight  Airlie  Moor  had  been  lying  under  a  "  black 
frost/'  The  wind  that  whistled  through  the  leafless 
woods,  and  swept  over  the  hard  ground,  was  bitterly 
cold  ;  the  sky  was  gray  and  cheerless  ;  the  far  stretch 
of  the  sea  was  more  than  usually  desolate.  The  frost 
had  come  soon  on  the  heels  of  autumn,  and  already  all 
the  manifold  signs  of  life  which  had  marked  the  summer 
were  nipped  off  and  dead.  The  woods  were  silent ;  the 
murmur  of  the  moorland  rivulet  had  been  hushed,  for 
its  narrow  channel  contained  a  mass  of  ice  ;  and  the 
stripped  and  bare  fields  over  which  the  wintry  wind 
blew  were  hard  as  iron. 

Then  there  was  one  night's  snow,  and  in  a  twinkling 
the  whole  scene  was  changed.  On  the  Saturday  night 
a  certain  stranger  had  arrived  in  Ardrossan,  and  put  up 
at  an  inn  there.  He  had  come  down  from  Glasgow  in 
a  third-class  carriage,  and  had  a  sufficiently  cheerless 
journey.  But  now,  on  this  Sunday  morning,  when  he 
got  up  and  went  out,  lo  !  there  was  a  new  world  all 
around  him.  The  sun  was  shining  brightly  over  the 
great  white  fields,  the  trees  hung  heavy  with  the  snow, 
the  straggling  groups  of  men  and  women  coming  in 
from  the  country  to  church  moved  ghostlike  and  silent 
along  the  white  roads,  and  the  sea  outside  had  caught 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  If E  777. 


'97 


a  glimmer  of  misty  yellow  from  the  sunlight,  and  was  al- 
most calm.  The  bright  and  clear  atmosphere  was  ex- 
hilarating, although  yet  intensely  cold ;  and  as  this  soli- 
tary adventurer  issued  forth  from  the  town,  and  took  his 
way  to  the  high  country,  the  frosty  air  brought  a  glow 
of  color  into  his  young  and  healthy  face.  The  frost  had 
evidently  neither  stiffened  his  limbs  nor  congealed  his 
blood  ;  and  yet  even  when  the  brisk  exercise  had  made 
him  almost  uncomfortably  warm,  he  still  kept  his  Scotch 
cap  well  down  over  his  forehead,  while  the  collar  of  his 
top-coat  was  pulled  up  so  as  to  conceal  almost  the  whole 
of  the  rest  of  his  face. 

His  light  and  springy  step  took  him  rapidly  over  the 
ground,  and  his  spirits  rose  with  the  clear  air  and  the 
joyous  exercise.  He  began  to  sing  "  Drumclog,"  Sun- 
day morning  as  it  was.  Then,  when  he  had  gained  a 
higher  piece  of  country,  and  turned  to  look  around  him 
on  the  spacious  landscape,  when  he  saw  the  far  hills  and 
the  valleys  shining  white  in  the  sunlight,  the  snow  lying 
thick  and  soft  on  the  evergreens,  and  the  sea  grown 
blue  and  silvery  around  the  still  whiteness  of  the  land, 
he  drew  a  long  breath,  and  said  to  himself, — 

"  Isn't  it  worth  while  to  live  twenty  years  in  Glas- 
gow to  catch  a  glimpse  of  such  a  picture  as  that,  and 
get  a  mouthful  of  the  clear  air  ? " 

By  and  by  he  came  in  sight  of  Airlie,  and  then  he 
moderated  his  pace.  Over  the  silence,  of  the  snow  he 
could  hear  the  sharp  clanging  of  the  church  bell.  A 
dark  line  of  stragglers  was  visible  on  the  whiteness  of 
the  moor,  leading  over  to  the  small  church,  the  roof  of 
which  sparkled  in  the  sunlight.  Beyond  that  again, 
and  higher  up,  was  the  dusky  wall  of  the  Manse,  over 
which  looked  some  of  the  windows  of  the  small  house. 
One  of  the  panes  caught  the  sun  at  an  angle,  and  sent 
out  into  the  clear  atmosphere  a  burning  ray  of  light, 
which  glittered  over  the  moor  like  a  yellow  star. 

At  last  he  came  to  a  dead  stop,  by  the  side  of  a 
piece  of  coppice.  He  heard  voices  behind  him,  and, 
turning,  saw  two  or  three  people  coming  up  the  road. 
Evidently  wishing  to  avoid  them,  he  jumped  over  the 


I98  A  DAUGHTER  OF  H£TH. 

low  hedge  by  the  side  of  the  path,  and  made  his  way  a 
little  distance  into  the  wood.  The  thickness  and  -  - 
ness  of  the  feathery  snow  deadened  every  sound 

But  when  he  looked  towards  the  road  again,  he  saw 
that  down  through  the  leafless  trees  it  might  be  possible 
for  any  one  to  descry  him  ;  and  so  he  went  on  again, 
gradually  going  down  into  a  slight  hollow,  until  sud- 
denly, he  found  himself  confronted  by  a  man.  The  two 
looked  at  each  other  ;  the  one  alarmed,  the  other  an- 
noyed. At  last  the  elder  of  the  two  called  out, — 

"  Cot  pless  me,  is  it  you,  indeed  and  mirover !  :> 

The  younger  of  the  two  men  did  not  answer,  but 
went  past  the  other,  and,  after  a  brief  search,  picked  up 
a  bit  of  string  and  wire  which  lay  plainly  marked  on  the 
snow. 

"  Neil,  Neil,  is  this  how  ye  spend  the  Sabbath  morn- 
ing ? "  said  he. 

"  And  wass  ye  thinking  sat  bit  o'  string  wass  mine  ? ' 
said  Neil,  indignantly,  "when  it  is  John  M'Kendrick 
will  ask  me  to  go  out  and  watch  sa  men  frae  the  iron- 
works sat  come  up  to  steal  sa  rabbits  ! " 

"  Oh  !  ye  were  sent  out  to  watch  the  poachers  ?  " 

"  Jist  sat,"  said  Neil  the  Pensioner,  looking  rather 
uncomfortably  at  the  snare  in  the  other's  hands. 

"  Do  ye  ken  where  leears  gang  to  ? "  said  the  Whaup, 
for  he  it  was. 

"Toots,  toots,  man  !  "  said  the  Pensioner,  insidiously, 
"  what  is  sa  harm  if  a  body  rins  against  a  bit  rabbit. 
There  is  mair  o'  them  san  we  can  a'  eat ;  and  when  ye 
stand  in  sa  wood,  wi'  your  legs  close,  sey  rin  jist  clean 
against  your  feet,  and  it  will  pe  no  human  man  could 
keep  sa  fingers  aff.  And  what  for  are  ye  no  at  sa  kirk 
yersel',  Maister  Tammas  ?  " 

"  Look  here,  Neil,"  said  the  Whaup,  decisively.  "  I 
have  come  down  from  Glasgow  for  an  hour  or,  so,  and 
nobody  in  Airlie  maun  ken  anything  about  it.  Do  ye 
understand  ?  As  soon  as  the  folk  are  in  church,  I  am 
going  up  to  the  Manse,  and  I  will  make  Leezibeth  swea/ 
not  to  tell.  As  for  you,  Neil,  if  ye  breathe  a  word  o't, 
I'll  hae  ye  put  in  Ayr  gaol  for  poaching." 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH.  199 

"  It  wassna  poaching,"  said  Neil,  in  feeble  protest. 

"  Now  tell  me  all  about  the  -Airlie  folk,"  said  the 
Whaup.  "  What  has  happened  ?  What  have  they  been 
doing  ? " 

"  Ye  will  ken  sat  nothing  ever  happens  in  Airlie," 
said  Neil,  with  a  slight  touch  of  contempt.  "There 
hassna  been  a  funeral  or  any  foregatherin'  for  a  lang 
time,  and  there  is  mair  change  in  you,  Maister  Tammas 
than  in  Airlie.  You  will  have  pecome  quite  manly-like, 
and  it  is  only  sa  short  while  you  will  pe  away.  Mir- 
over,  sare  is  more  life  going  on  in  Glasgow,  eh,  Maister 
Tammas?" 

The  old  Pensioner  spoke  wistfully  about  Glasgow, 
which  he  knew  had  plenty  of  funerals,  marriages,  and 
other  occasions  for  dram-drinking. 

"  Is  my  cousin  as  much  better  as  they  said  ? " 

"  Oh,  she  will  pe  much  petter,  but  jist  as  white  as 
the  snaw  itsel'.  I  wass  up  to  see  her  on  sa  Wednesday 
nicht,  and  she  will  say  to  me,  'Neil,  where  iss  your 
fiddle  ? '  but  who  would  ha'  socht  o'  taking  up  sa  fiddle  ? 
And  I  did  have  a  dram,  too." 

"  Probably,"  said  the  Whaup.  "  Lord  Earlshope, 
what  has  become  of  him  ?  " 

"  Nobody  will  know  what  hass  come  to  him,  for  he 
is  not  here  since  sey  all  went  away  in  sa  yacht.  I  tit 
hear,  mirover,  he  wass  in  France,  and  sare  is  no  know- 
ing what  will  happen  to  a  man  in  sat  country,  ever 
since  Waterloo.  But  Lord  Earlshope  will  pe  safer  if 
he  will  tell  them  sat  he  is  English.  Sey  canna  bear  sa 
Scotch  ever  since  what  we  did  at  Waterloo,  as  I  will 
have  told  you  often  ;  but  sa  English,  I  do  not  sink  it 
will  matter  much  harm  to  them  in  France." 

"  I  should  think  not,  Neil.  It  was  the  Highlanders 
settled  them  that  day,  wasn't  it  ?  "  . 

"  I  will  tell  you,"  said  Neil,  drawing  himself  up  to 
his  full  height.  "  It  wass  Corporal  Mackenzie  said  to 
me,  at  six  o'clock  in  sa  morning,  '  Neil/  said  he,  '  sare 
will  be  no  Bonypart  at  the  end  o'  this  day,  if  I  can  get 
at  him  wis  my  musket.'  Now  Corporal  Mackenzie  was 
a  strong,  big  man — " 


200  *  DAUGHTER  OF  HETtl. 

"  Neil,  you  have  told  me  all  that  before/'  said  the 
Whaup.  "  I  know  that  you  and  Corporal  Mackenzie  took 
a  whole  battery  captive,  men,  horses,  and  guns.  You 
told  me  before." 

"And  if  a  young  man  hass  no  pride  in  what  his 
country  hass  done  ;  if  he  will  not  hear  it  again  and 
again,"  said  Neil,  with  indignation,  "  it  is  not  my  fault. 

"  Another  time,  Neil,  we  will  go  over  the  story  from 
end  to  end.  There,  the  bells  have  just  stopped.  I  must 
get  on  now  to  the  Manse.  Remember,  if  you  let  a  hu- 
man being  know  you  saw  me  in  Airlie  this  day,  it  will 
be  Ayr  gaol  for  ye." 

The  Pensioner  laughed,  and  said, — 

"  You  wass  always  a  goot  hand  at  a  joke,  Maister 
Tarn  mas." 

"  Faith,  you  won't  find  it  any  joke,  Neil,"  said  the 
Whaup,  as  he  bade  good-bye  to  the  old  man,  and  went 
off. 

As  he  crossed  the  moor,  the  white  snow  concealing 
deep  ruts  filled  with  crackling  ice,  into  which  he  fre- 
quently stumbled, — he  saw  the  beadle  come  out  and 
shut  the  outer  door  of  the  church.  Not  a  sign  of  life 
was  now  visible  as  far  as  the  eye  could  see,  only  the 
white  heights  ind  hollows  with  dark  lines  of  hedges, 
and  the  gray  twilight  of  the  woods.  The  sun  still  shone 
on  the  Manse  windows,  and,  as  he  drew  near,  a  thrush 
flew  out  of  one  of  the  short  firs  in  front  of  the  house, 
bringing  down  a  lot  of  snow  with  the  flutter  of  its 
wings. 

He  lifted  the  latch  gently,  and  walked  into  the  front 
garden.  A  perfect  stillness  reigned  around  the  small 
building.  Everybody  was  evidently  at  church — unless, 
indeed,  Leezibeth  might  have  been  left  with  Coquette 
The  Whaup  looked  over  the  well-known  scene  of  many 
an  exploit.  He  slipped  around  the  house,  too,  into  the 
back  garden.  A  blackbird  flew  out  of  one  of  the  bushes 
with  a  cry  of  alarm.  A  robin  came  hopping  forward  on 
the  snow,  and  cocked  up  its  black  and  sparkling  eye  to 
get  a  look  at  the  intruder.  There  were  two  or  three 
round  patches  of  snow  on  the  walls  of  the  stable,  and 


A  DA  UGHTEK  OF  HE  Tlf.  2  O I 

the  Whaup,  recognizing  these  traces,  knew  that  his 
brothers  must  have  been  having  high  jinks  there  that 
morning  before  the  Manse  had  awoke. 

Then  he  went  back  and  cautiously  entered  the  hall. 
What  was  this  low  and  monotonous  sound  he  heard  issu- 
ing from  the  parlor  ?  He  applied  his  ear  to  the  door, 
and  heard  Leezibeth  reading  out,  in  a  measured  and 
melancholy  way,  a  chapter  of  Isaiah. 

"  What  does  that  mean  ? "  thought  the  Whaup. 
"  She  never  used  to  read  to  herself.  Can  she  be  reading 
to  Coquette  ?  and  is  that  the  enlivening  drone  with  which 
she  seeks  to  interest  an  invalid  ?  " 

It  seemed  to  him,  also,  that  if  Leezibeth  were  read- 
ing to  Coquette,  she  was  choosing  passages  with  a  sin- 
ister application.  He  heard  the  monotonous  voice  go 
on  :  "  Come  down,  and  sit  in  the  dust,  O  virgin  daugJitcrof 
Babylon  ;  sit  on  the  gtound  ;  thete  is  no  throne,  O  daughter 
of  the  Chaldeans  ;  for  than  sJialt  no  more  be  called  tender 
and  delicate"  The  cheeks  of  the  Whaup  began  to  burn 
red  with  something  else  than  the  cold.  He  knew  not  that 
Leezibeth  had  altogether  overcome  her  old  dislike  for  the 
girl,  and  waited  on  her  with  an  animal-like  fondness  and 
submissiveness.  The  Whaup  took  it  for  granted  that 
these  texts  were  chosen  as  a  reproof  and  admonition — 
part  of  the  old  persecution — and  so,  without  more  ado, 
he  opened  the  door  brusquely  and  walked  in. 

A  strange  scene  met  his  eyes.  Coquette,  pale  and 
deathlike,  lay  on  a  sofa,  with  her  large  dark  eyes  fixed 
wistfully  on  the  fire.  She  evidently  heard  nothing. 
Leezibeth  sat  on  a  chair  at  the  table,  with  a  large  Family 
Bible  before  her.  There  was  no  trace  of  a  sick  room  in 
this  hushed  and  warm  apartment,  in  which  the  chief  light 
was  the  red  glow  of  the  fire  ;  and  yet  it  was  so  silent, 
save  for  the  low  murmuring  of  these  texts,  and  the  girl 
looked  so  sad  and  so  phantom-like,  that  a  great  chill  laid 
hold  of  his  heart.  Had  they  been  deceiving  him  in  their 
Betters  ? 


202  .A  DA CGHTER  OF  HE 777. 

CHAPTER  XXIX. 
COQUETTE'S  DREAMS. 

TB£  Whaup  went  over  to  the  sofa,  and  knelt  down 
on  one  knee,  and  took  Coquette's  hand. 

"  Coquette,"  said  he,  forgetting  to  call  her  by  any 
other  name,  "  are  you  ill  yet  ?  Why  are  you  so  pale  ? 
Why  did  they  tell  me  you  were  almost  better  ?  " 

She  was  pale  no  longer.  A  quick  flush  of  surprise 
and  delight  sprang  to  her  face  when  she  saw  him  enter, 
and  there  was  a  new  life  and  pleasure  in  her  eyes  as  she 
said  rapidly, — 

"  You  are  come  all  the  way  from  Glasgow  to  see  me  ? 
I  was  thinking  of  you,  and  trying  to  make  a  picture  of 
Glasgow  in  the  coal  and  flames  of  the  fire,  and  I  had 
begun  to  wonder  when  you  would  come  back,  and  whether 
it  would  be  a  surprise — and — and — I  did  think  I  did  hear 
something  in  the  snow  outside,  and  it  was  really  you  ? 
And  how  well  you  look,  Tom,"  she  added,  with  her  dark 
eyes  full  of  a  subtle  tenderness  and  joy,  regarding  the 
young  man's  handsome  and  glowing  face.  "  How  big 
and  strong  you  seem  ;  but,  do  you  know,  you  seem  to  be 
a  great  deal  older  ?  You  have  been  working  very  hard, 
Tom  ?  Ah,  I  do  know !  And  you  have  come  to  stay 
for  awhile  ?  And  what  sort  of  a  house  have  you  been 
living  in  ?  And  what  sort  of  a  place  is  Glasgow  ?  Sit 
down  on  the  hearth-rug  and  tell  me  all  about  it !  " 

She  spoke  quite  rapidly,  and,  in  her  gladness  and  ex- 
citement, she  tried  to  raise  herself  up  a  bit.  The  Whaup 
instantly  offered  her  his  assistance,  and  propped  up  the 
cushions  on  which  her  head  rested.  But  why  did  he  not 
speak  ?  He  did  not  answer  one  of  her  questions.  He 
looked  at  her  in  a  vague  and  sad  way,  as  if  she  were 
some  object  far  away,  and  she  fancied  she  saw  a  tremor 
about  his  lips.  Then  he  said  suddenly,  with  a  sharpness 
which  startled  her,  — 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH.  203 

"Why  was  I  not  told?  Wh^  did  they  make  light 
of  it  ?  What  have  they  been  doing  to  let  you  get  as  ill 
as  this  ?  " 

He  rose  and  turned  with  a  frown  on  his  face,  as  if  to 
accuse  Leezibeth  of  being  the  cause  of  the  girl's  illness. 
Leezibeth  had  quietly  slipped  out  of  the  room. 

"  What  does  that  woman  mean  by  persecuting  you 
with  her  texts  ?  "  he  asked. 

Coquette  reached  out  her  hand,  and  brought  him 
down  to  his  old  position  beside  her. 

"  You  must  not  say  anything  against  Leesiebess  ; 
she  is  my  very  good  friend,  and  so  kind  that  she  does  not 
know  how  to  serve  me.  And  you  must  not  look  angry 
like  that,  or  I  shall  be  afraid  of  you ;  you  seem  so  much 
greater  and  older  than  you  were,  and  I  have  no  longer 
any  control  over  you,  as  I  did  use  to  have  when  you 
were  a  boy,  you  know." 

The  V/haup  laughed,  and  sat  down  on  the  hearth-rug 
beside  her.  The  fire  heightened  the  warm  glow  of  his 
face,  and  touched  here  and  there  the  brown  masses  of 
curling  hair  ;  but  it  was  clear  that  some,  firmness,  and 
perhaps  a  touch  of  sadness,  had  been  added  to  the  lad's 
expression  during  those  few  months  he  had  been  away 
from  home.  There  was  a  gravity  in  his  voice,  too,  which 
had  replaced  the  buoyant  carelessness  of  old. 

"  It  is  comfortable  to  be  near  one's  own  fire,  and  to 
see  you  again,  Coquette,"  said  he. 

"  It  is  miserable  away  in  Glasgow  ?  "  she  said.  "  This 
morning,  when  I  saw  the  snow,  I  thought  of  you  in  the 
di  ear  town,  and  did  wonder  what  you  were  doing.  '  It 
is  Sunday,'  I  said.  '  He  will  go  to  church  in  the  morn- 
ing, and  then  he  will  go  outside  the  town  for  a  walk  all 
by  himself.  He  will  go  through  the  great  gate,  and  under 
the  big  walls.  All  the  trees  on  the  side  of  the 
fortifications  will  be  bare  and  heavy  with  snow;  and 
the  people  that  pass  along  the  boulevards  outside  the 
walls  will  be  muffled  up  and  cold.  In  the  gardens  of  the 
cafes  the  wooden  benches  will  be  wet  and  deserted.  Then 
I  see  you  walk  twice  around  the  town,  and  go  in  again  by 
the  gate.  You  go  home,  you  have  dinner,  you  take  a 


2-04 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETlf. 


book,  perhaps  it  is  the  French  Testament,  I  gave  you,  and 
you  think  of  us  here  at  Airlie.  And  when  you  sit  like 
that  do  you  think  of  the  sea,  and  the  old  church  up  here 
and  the  moor  ?  and  do  you  see  ^s  as  clearly  as  I  can  see 
you  ?  and  could  you  speak  to  me  if  only  the  words  would 
carry  ? " 

He  listened  as  if  he  were  listening  to  the  record  of  a 
dream  ;  and  strangely  enough,  it  coincided  with  many  a 
dream  that  he  had  dreamed  by  himself  in  the  solitude 
of  his  Glasgow  lodging. 

"  What  a  curious  notion  of  Glasgow  you  have,"  he 
said.  "  You  seem  to  think  it  is  like  a  French  town.  There 
are  no  fortifications.  There  are  no  walls,  no  boulevards 
around  the  place,  nor  public  gardens  with  benches. 
There  is  a  close  network  of  streets  in  the  middle,  and 
these  lose  themselves  on  the  one  side  in  great  masses  of 
public  works  and  chimneys  that  stretch  out  into  dirty 
fields  that  are  sodden  with  smoke,  and  on  the  other  side 
into  suburbs  where  the  rich  people  have  big  houses. 
There  is  nothing  in  the  way  of  ramparts  or  moats  or  for- 
tifications ;  but  there  is  a  cannon  in  the  West-End 
Park." 

"  There  is  a  park,  then  ?  It  is  not  all  houses  and 
chimneys?" 

"There  are  two  parks  that  let  you  see  nearly  down  to 
Airlie.  On  the  clear  days  I  go  up  to  the  highest  point 
and  look  away  down  here,  and  wonder  if  I  could  call  to 
Coquette,  and  if  she  would  hear." 

"You  do  think  of  me  sometimes,  then  ?  "  said  she 
with  the  dark  eyes  grown  wistful  and  a  trifle  sad. 

Had  he  not  thought  of  her !  What  was  it  that  seemed 
to  sweeten  his  life  in  the  great  and  weary  city  but  ten- 
der memories  of  the  girl  away  down  in  that  moorland 
nook  ?  In  the  time  of  constant  rain,  when  the  skies 
were  dark,  and  the  roaring  traffic  of  the  streets  ploughed 
its  way  through  sludge  and  mud,  he  thought  of  one  spot 
over  which,  in  his  imagination,  there  dwelt  perpetual  sun- 
shine and  a  blue  sky.  When  he  was  sick  of  the  noise 
and  the  smoke — sick,  too,  of  the  loneliness  of  the  great 
city-  he  could  think  of  the  girl  far  away,  whose  face 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HE1IL  205 

was  as  pure  and  sweet  as  a  lily  in  springtime,  and  the 
very  memory  of  her  seemed  to  lighten  his  dull  little  room, 
and  bring  a  fragrance  to  it.  Did  not  Airlie  lie  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  sunsets  ?  Many  a  time,  when  he  had  gone 
^ut  from  the  city  to  the  heights  of  Maryhill  or  Hillhead, 
the  cloudy  and  wintry  afternoon  broke  into  a  great  mass 
of  fire  away  along  the  western  horizon  ;  and  he  loved  to 
think  that  Coquette  was  catching  that  glimmer  of  yellow 
light,  and  that  she  was  looking  over  the  moor  towards 
Arran  and  the  sea.  All  the  sweet  influences  of  life 
hovered  around  AirJie  ;  there  seemed  to  be  always  sun- 
shine there.  And  when  he  went  back  into  the  gloom  of 
the  city,  it  was  with  a  glad  heart,  for  he  had  got  a  glimpse 
of  the  favored  land  down  in  the  west  ;  and  if  you  had 
been  walking  behind  a  tall  and  stalwart  lad,  whose 
shoulders  were  as  flat  as  a  board,  and  whose  brown 
hair  was  in  considerable  profusion  around  a  face  that 
was  full  of  courage  and  hope  and  health,  you  would  have 
heard  him  sing,  high  over  the  roar  of  the  carts  and  the 
carriages,  the  tune  of  "  Drumclog  " — heeding  little 
whether  any  one  was  listening  to  his  not  very  melodious 
voice. 

"  You  must  have  been  much  worse  than  they  told 
me,"  he  said,  gravely. 

"  But  I  am  getting  very  well  now,"  said  Coquette, 
with  a  smile ;  "  and  I  am  anxious  to  be  quite  better,  for 
they  did  spoil  me  here.  I  do  not  like  to  be  an  invalid." 

"  No,"  said  the  Whaup.  "  I  suppose  you'd  rather 
be  scampering  about  like  a  wild  pony  over  the  moor, 
flinging  snowballs,  and  shouting  with  laughter." 

"  I  did  not  know  that  the  wild  pony  was  good  at 
snowballs  or  at  laughing,"  said  Coquette.  "  But  you 
have  not  told  me  anything  about  Glasgow  yet.  What 
you  do  there  ?  Have  you  seen  Lady  Drum  since  she 
went  away  from  here,  after  being  very  kind  to  me  ? 
How  do  you  like  the  college  ?  " 

"All  that  is  of  no  consequence,"  said  the  Whaup. 
"  I  did  not  come  here  to  talk  about  myself.  I  came  to 
see  you,  and  find  out  why  you  were  remaining  so  long 
indoors." 


2o5  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETIT. 

if  But  I  do  desire  you  to  talk  about  yourself,"  said 
Coquette,  with  something  of  her  old  imperiousness  of 
manner. 

"  I  sha'n't,"  said  the  Whaup.  "  I  have  grown  older 
than  you  since  I  went  to  Glasgow,  and  I  am  not  to  be 
ordered  about.  Besides,  Coquette.  I  haven't  above  half 
an  hour  more  to  stay." 

"  You  do  not  go  away  to-day  ?  "  said  Coquette,  with 
alarm  in  her  face. 

"  I  go  away  in  less  than  half  an  hour,  or  my  father 
will  be  home.  Not  a  human  being  must  know  that  I 
have  come  to  Airlie  to-day.  I  mean  to  exact  a  solemn 
vow  from  Leezibeth." 

"  It  is  wicked,  it  is  wrong,"  said  Coquette. 

"  Why  not  say  it  is  a  beastly  shame,  as  you  used  to 
do  ? ''  asked  the  Whaup. 

"  Because  I  have  been  reading  much  since  I  am  ill, 
and  have  learned  much  English,"  said  Coquette ;  and 
then  she  proceeded  with  her  prayers  and  entreaties  that 
he  should  remain  at  least  over  the  day. 

But  the  Whaup  was  inexorable.  He  had  fulfilled 
the  object  of  his  mission,  and  would  depart  without  any- 
body being  a  bit  the  wiser.  He  had  seen  Coquette 
again ;  had  listened  to  her  tender  voice,  and  assured 
himself  that  she  was  really  convalescent  and  in  good 
spirits.  So  they  chattered  in  the  old  familiar  fashion, 
as  if  they  were  boy  and  girl  together.  But  all  the  time 
Coquette  was  regarding  him,  and  trying  to  say  to  her- 
self what  the  inexpressible  something  was  which  had 
made  a  difference  in  the  Whaup's  manner.  He  was 
not  downcast,  on  the  contrary  he  talked  to  her  in  the 
frank,  cheerful,  abrupt  way  which  she  knew  of  old ;  and 
yet  there  was  a  touch  of  determination,  of  seriousness 
and  decision,  which  had  been  quite  recently  acquired. 
In  the  mere  outward  appearance  of  his  face,  too,  was 
there  not  some  alteration  ? 

"  Oh,  Tom  !  "  she  cried,  suddenly,  "  you  have  got 
whiskers." 

"  What  if  I  have  ? "  he  said,  coolly.  "  Are  you  sorry 
Miss  Coquette,  that  nature  has  denied  to  woman  that 


A  DA  UGHTER  OF  HE  TIL  2  o  7 

and  he  stroked  with  satisfaction  the 
dusky  golden  down  which  was  on  his  cheeks  and  chin. 

"  I  do  believe,"  said  Coquette,  "  you  did  come  from 
Glasgow  to  show  me  your  whiskers." 

"  You  don't  seem  to  admire  them  as  much  as  you 
ought  to,"  he  remarked.  "  Yet  there  are  many  men 
who  would  give  something  for  these,  though  they  are 
young  as  yet." 

"  Oh,  you  vain  boy  !  "  said  Coquette.  "  I  am 
ashamed  of  you.  And  your  fashionable  cuffs,  too,  you 
are  not  a  proper  student.  You  ought  to  be  pale  and 
gloomy,  with  shabby  clothes  and  a  hungry  face.  But 
you  have  no  links  in  your  cuffs,  Tom,"  she  added, 
rather  shyly.  "  Would  you  let  me — would  you  accept 
from  me  as  a  present  a  pair  I  have  got  ? " 

"  And  go  back  to  college  with  a  pair  of  girl's  links 
in  my  sleeves  !  "  said  the  Whaup. 

"  But  they  are  quite  the  same,"  said  Coquette.  "  It 
will  give  me  great  pleasure  if  you  will  take  them." 

She  rang  for  Leezibeth,  and  bade  her  go  up  to  her 
room  and  fetch  those  bits  of  jewelry ;  and  when  Leezi- 
beth came  back  with  them  Coquette  would  herself  put 
them  in  her  cousin's  sleeves,  an  operation  which,  from 
her  recumbent  position,  she  effected  with  a  little  diffi- 
culty. As  the  Whaup  looked  at  these  pretty  ornaments, 
four  small  and  dark-green  cameos  set  in  an  old-fashioned 
circle  of  delicately  twisted  gold  wire,  he  said, — 

"  I  wonder  you  have  left  yourself  anything,  Coquette. 
You  are  always  giving  away  something  or  other.  I 
think  it  is  because  you  are  so  perfect  and  happy  in  your- 
self that  you  don't  need  to  care  for  anything  else." 

The  girl's  face  flushed  slightly  with  evident  pleasure  ; 
but  she  said, — 

"  If  you  do  call  me,  '  Coquette,'  I  will  call  you  '  The 
Whaup.' » 

"  Who  told  you  to  call  me  that  ? " 

"  I  have  heard  it  often.  Yet  it  is  not  fair.  You  are 
not  any  more  a  wild  boy,  but  a  student  and  a  man. 
Neither  am  I  '  Coquette.'  " 

Yet  at  this  very  moment  the  deceitful  young  creature 


2o8  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

was  trying  her  best  to  make  him  forget  the  peril  he  was 
in.  She  knew  that  if  the  people  returning  from  church 
were  to  find  him  in  the  house,  his  secret  would  be  lost, 
and  he  would  be  forced  to  remain.  So  she  talked  and 
questioned  him  without  ceasing,  and  had  made  him  alto- 
gether forget  that  time  was  passing  rapidly,  when 
suddenly  there  was  a  noise  without. 

"  By  Jove  !  "  said  the  Whaup,  4<  they  have  come  back. 
I  must  bolt  out  by  the  garden  and  get  down  the  wall. 
Good-bye,  Coquette,  get  well  soon,  and  come  up  to  see  me 
in  Glasgow." 

He  darted  out,  and  met  Leezibeth  in  the  passage. 
He  had  only  time  to  adjure  her  not  to  say  he  had  been 
there,  and  then  he  got  quickly  through  to  the  back-door. 
In  rushing  out  he  fairly  ran  against  his  brother  Wattie, 
and  unintentionally  sent  him  flying  into  an  immense 
heap  of  soft  snow  which  Andrew  had  swept  along  the 
path.  The  Whaup  did  not  pause  to  look  at  his  brother 
wriggling  out,  blinded  and  bewildered,  from  the  snow 
drift.  He  dashed  through  the  garden,  took  hold  of  a 
pear-tree,  clambered  on  to  the  wall,  and  dropped  into  the 
snow-covered  meadow  outside.  He  had  escaped. 

But  Wattie,  when  he  came  to  himself,  was  struck 
with  a  great  fear.  He  ran  into  the  house  and  into  the 
parlor,  almost  speechless  between  sobbing  and  terror, 
as  he  blurted  out, — 

"  Oh,  Leezibeth !  oh,  Leezibeth  !  the  deil  has  been 
in  the  house.  It  was  the  deil  himsel'  and  he  was  fleeing 
out  at  the  back-door,  and  he  flung  me  into  the  snaw,  and 
then  gaed  up  into  the  air,  wi'  a  crack  like  thunder. 
It  was  the  deil  himsel,'  Leezibeth,  what'll  I  dae  ?  what'll 
I  dae  ? " 

"  Havers,  havers,  havers ! "  cried  Leezibeth,  taking 
him  by  the  shoulders  and  bundling  him  out  of  the  room. 
"  Do  ye  think  the  deil  would  meddle  wi'  you,?  Gang  butt 
the  house,  and  take  the  snaw  off  your  clathes,  and  let 
the  deil  alane !  Ma  certes,  a  pretty  pass  if  we  are  to  be 
frightened  out  o'  our  senses  because  a  laddie  tumbles 
in  the  snaw  !" 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 


209 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

ON  THE  WAV. 

THE  Whaup  got  clear  away  from  the  people  coming  out 
of  church  by  striking  boldly  across  the  moor.  His  back 
was  turned  to  the  sea,  his  face  to  the  east ;  he  was  on 
his  way  to  Glasgow.  Briskly  and  lightly  he  strode  over 
the  crisp,  dry  snow,  feeling  but  little  discomfort,  except 
from  some  premonitory  qualms  of  hunger  ;  and  at  length 
he  got  into  the  broad  highway  which  follows  the  chan- 
nel of  the  Ayrshire  lochs  from  Dairy  on  by  the  valley 
of  the  Black  Cart  towards  Paisley. 

It  was  a  bright,  clear  day,  and  he  was  in  th.e  best  of 
spirits.  Had  he  not  talked  for  a  brief  while  with  Co- 
quette, and  seen  for  himself  that  there  was  a  glimpse  of 
the  old  tenderness  and  sauciness  and  liveliness  in  her  soft 
and  merry  black  eye  ?  He  had  satisfied  himself  that  she 
was  really  getting  better  ;  and  that  on  some  distant  day 
of  the  springtime,  when  a  breath  of  the  new,  sweet  air 
would  come  in  to  stir  the  branches  of  the  trees  in  the 
West-End  Park,  he  would  have  the -honor  and  delight  of 
escorting  his  foreign  cousin  towards  that  not  very  ro- 
mantic neighborhood,  and  pointing  out  to  her  the  spot 
in  the  horizon  under  which  Arlie  was  supposed  to  lie. 

When  would  the  springtime  come  ?  he  thought,  as 
he  began  to  munch  a  biscuit.  Was  it  possible  that  his 
imaginative  picture  would  come  true  ?  Would  Coquette 
actually  be  seen  in  Glasgow  streets,  crossing  over  in 
front  of  the  Exchange,  walking  down  Buchanan  Street, 
and  perhaps  up  on  the  little  circle  around  the  flag  in  the 
South-Side  Park  ?  Would  Coquette  really  and  truly  walk 
into  that  gloomy  square  inside  the  old  College,  and  look 
at  the  griffins,  and  perhaps  shyly  steal  a  glance  at  the 


210  A  DA  UGHTEK  OF  HE  TV/. 

red-coated  young  students  lounging  around  ?  Glasgow 
began  to  appear  less  dull  to  him.  A  glamour  fell  over 
the  gray  thoroughfares,  and  even  the  dinginess  of  the 
High  Street  became  picturesque. 

"  Why,  all  the  sparrows  in  the  street  will  know  that 
Coquette  has  come ;  and  the  young  men  in  the  shops 
will  brighten  themselves  up ;  and  Lady  Drum  will  take 
her  to  the  theatre,  in  spite  of  my  father ;  and  all  the 
bailies  will  be  asking  Sir  Peter  for  an  introduction. 
And  Coquette  will  go  about  like  a  young  princess,  hav- 
ing nothing  in  the  world  to  do  but  to  be  pleased !  " 

So  he  struck  again  with  his  stick  at  the  snow  on  the 
hedge,  and  quickened  his  pace,  as  though  Glasgow  were 
now  a  happy  end  to  his  journey.  And  he  lifted  up  his 
voice,  and  sang  aloud,  in  his  joy,  the  somewhat  desola- 
ting tune  of  "  Coleshill  "  even  as  the  Germans,  when  at 
their  gayest,  invariably  begin  to  sing, — 

"  Ich  \veiss  nicht  was  soil  es  bedeuten, 
Dass  ich  so  traurig  bin." 

The  Whaup  had  not  the  most  delicately  modulated 
voice,  but,  such  as  it  was  he  had  plenty  of  it. 

Presently,  however,  he  stopped,  for  right  in  front  of 
him  there  appeared  a  solitary  horseman.  There  was 
something  in  the  rider's  figure  familiar  to  him.  Who  was 
this  that  dared  to  invade  the  quiet  of  these  peaceful  dis- 
tricts by  appearing  on  horseback  on  a  Sunday  morning  ? 
As  he  drew  near  the  Whaup  suddenly  remembered  that 
not  a  word  had  been  said  by  Coquette  of  Lord  Earlshope. 

The  sunlight  faded  utterly  out  of  the  landscape.  All 
the  joyous  dreams  he  had  been  dreaming  of  Coquette 
coming  to  Glasgow  grew  faint  and  vanished.  He  had 
quite  forgotten  Lord  Earlshope ;  and  now,  it  became 
evident,  here  he  was,  riding  along  the  main  road  in  the 
direction  of  Airlie. 

As  Lord  Earlshope  came  near,  he  drew  up  his  horse. 
He  was  clad,  the  Whaup  observed,  in  a  large  Russian- 
looking  overcoat,  which  had  plenty  of  warm  fur  around 
the  neck  of  it.  He  looked,  indeed,  more  like  a  foreigner 


A  DA  UGHTER  OF  HE  TJf.  2  .  l 


than  a  country  gentleman  riding  along  an  Ayrshire 
toward  his  own  estates. 

No  less  surprised  was  Lord  Earlshope  to  meet  his 
boon  companion  of  old. 

"  Why,"  he  said,  "  I  thought  you  had  left  Airlie." 

"  I  thought  the  same  of  you,"  said  Mr.  Tom. 

Lord  Earlshope  laughed. 

"  I  am  obeying  a  mere  whim  "  he  said,  "  in  riding  down 
to  Earlshope.  I  shall  probably  not  stay  an  hour.  How 
are  all  the  people  in  Airlie  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  the  Whaup  ;  "J  have  myself 
been  there  for  about  an  hour,  and  no  more." 

"  At  least  you  know  how  your  cousin,  Miss  Cassilis, 
is  ?  ''  said  Lord  Earlshope,  in  a  grave  tone  of  voice. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  Whaup,  '*  she  is  still  an  invalid,  you 
know,  but  she  is  on  the  fair  way  to  a  complete  recovery." 

"  I  am  glad  of  that,"  said  Lord  Earlshope,  hastily. 
"  I  am  glad  of  that,  for  I  may  not  be  able  to  call  to  see 
how  she  is.  In  fact,  I  am  rather  pressed  for  time  this 
morning.  You  are  sure  she  is  getting  well  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  hope  so,"  said  the  Whaup. 

"  And  will  soon  be  about  again  ?  " 

'•  Yes,  I  hope  so,'J  said  the  Whaup,  regarding  with 
some  curiosity  the  engrossed  and  absent  way  in  which 
the  other  put  his  rapid  questions. 

Lord  Earlshope  turned  around  his  horse. 

"  Look  here,5'  he  said,  "  I  don't  wish  to  be  seen  about 
this  place  and  I  don't  think  I  shall  go  on  to  Airlie.  I 
only  wanted  to  make  some  inquiries  about  your  cousin. 
What  you  tell  me  has  satisfied  me  that  she  is  not  so  ill 
as  I  had  feared.  Where  are  you  going  ?  " 

"  I  am  walking  to  Glasgow,"  said  the  Whaup. 

"  To  Glasgow,"  said  the  other.  "  You  won't  be  there 
before  night  !  " 

"  That  is  not  of  much  consequence." 

"  I  will  go  to  Glasgow  with  you,  if  you  like.  We  can 
take  the  horse  alternately." 

"  The  horse  would  think  you  were  mad  if  you  were  to 
walk  him  all  the  way  up  to  Glasgow  in  this  snow,"  said 
the  Whaup. 


2  j  2  A  DA  UGHTER  OF  HETH. 

"  True,  true,"  said  Lord  Earlshope,  absently.  :(  I 
shall  strike  across  country  for  Largs,  and  put  up  there. 
You  saw  your  cousin  to-day  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  And  she  is  not  very  much  of  an  invalid  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  hope  she  is  getting  better,"  said  the  Whaup. 

"  Thank  you,  thank  you,"  said  Lord  Earlshope. 
"  You  need  not  say  you  have  seen  me.  Good  -day  to 
you ! " 

So  he  turned  his  horse  once  more,  and  rode  on,  with 
an  obviously  preoccupied  air. 

"  There  goes  a  man,"  said  the  Whaup,  watching  him 
disappear,  "  as  mad  as  a  March  hare,  and  madder." 

Yet,  as  he  walked  on,  he  found  that  this  brief  inter- 
view had  strangely  disquieted  him.  What  business  had 
Lord  Earlshope  to  be  asking  so  particularly  about  Co 
quette  ?  Why  was  he  riding  down  on  this  Sunday  morn 
ing  for  the  professed  purpose  of  making  inquiries  about 
her?  Nay,  why  should  he  not  wish  to  be  seen?  It 
was  evident  that  in  Airlie,  where  no  one  had  seen  his 
lordship  for  many  a  day,  there  was  no  expectation  of 
him.  The  more  Tom  Cassilis  considered  the  matter, 
the  more  profound  became  his  annoyance  over  the  whole 
affair. 

It  now  seemed  to  him,  "looking  back  over  the  brief 
time  that  he  had  spent  with  Coquette,  that  the  most 
grateful  feature  of  the  interview  was  the  fact  that  Lord 
Earlshope  had  not  been  mentioned.  He  had  been  quite 
forgotten,  indeed.  There  might  have  been  no  Lord 
Earlshope  in  the  world,  so  thoroughly  had  he  been  ig- 
nored in  that  quiet  and  confidental  chat  which  took  place 
in  the  Minister's  parlor.  Yet  here  he  was,  riding  down 
by  himself  within  a  few  miles  of  Airlie,  and  with  his 
professed  object  the  wish  to  see  or  hear  something  of 
Coquette. 

The  rest  of  that  long  walk  was  not  pleasant  to  the 
young  man.  The  whole  day  seemed  to  have  become 
sombre  and  gloomy.  Why  was  he  compelled  to  return 
like  a  slave  to  the  labor  and  the  loneliness  of  a  strange 
town,  when  others  had  the  free  country  before  them,  tc 


A  DA  UGHTER  OF  HE  TIL  2  1 3 

choose  their  place  of  rest  as  they  liked  ?  It  seemed  to 
him  that  he  was  turning  his  back  now  on  all  that  was 
beautiful  and  pleasant  in  the  world,  and  that  Lord  Earls- 
hope  had  been  left  there  with  such  intentions  in  his 
heart  as  were  still  a  mystery.  The  Whaup  began  to  for- 
get that  he  had  fraternized  with  Lord  Earlshope  on 
board  the  Caroline.  He  remembered  no  longer  that  he 
had  satisfied  himself  of  that  gentleman's  being  a  far 
more  agreeable  and  honest  person  than  the  popular 
voice  of  the  district  would  admit.  Lord  Earlshope's 
kindness  to  them  all,  his  excessive  and  almost  distant 
courtesy  to  Coquette  and  her  uncle,  were  effaced  from 
his  recollection  ;  and  he  knew  only  that  before  him  lay 
the  long  and  winding  and  dreary  road  to  Glasgow,  while 
behind  him  were  the  pleasant  places  about  Airlie,  and 
Coquette,  and  the  comfort  of  the  Manse,  towards  which 
Lord  Earlshope  was  perhaps  now  riding. 

It  was  late  at  night  when  the  Whaup,  footsore  and 
tired,  reached  his  lodgings  in  George  Street,  Glasgow. 
His  landlady  had  not  returned  from  evening  service  ; 
the  solitary  domestic  of  the  house  was  out  ;  there  was 
no  one  in  the  gaunt  and  dismal  house,  which  he  entered 
by  means  of  a  latch-key.  He  set  to  work  to  kindle  a 
fire  ;  but  the  fire  went  out,  and  in  the  middle  of  his 
labors  he  dropped  into  a  chair  and  fell  fast  asleep.  The 
fatigues  of  the  day  caused  him  to  sleep  on  in  the  dark- 
ness and  the  cold ;  and  the  other  people  of  the  house, 
coming  in  later,  knew  nothing  of  his  being  in  his  room. 

In  the  middle  of  the  night  he  awoke.  He  was  stiff 
with  cold.  He  sought  for  matches,  and  could  not  find 
them  ;  so  he  tumbled  into  bed  in  the  dark,  with  his  whole 
frame  numbed  and  his  heart  wretched.  Nor  did  he  for- 
get his  miseries  in  sleep ;  there  was  no  sleep  for  him. 
He  lay  through  the  night  and  tossed  about ;  and  if  for 
a  moment  he  fell  into  a  sort  of  doze,  it  was  to  start  up 
again  with  a  great  fear  that  something  had  happened 
at  Airlie.  In  these  periods  of  half-forgetfulness,  and 
during  the  interval  when  he  lay  broadly  awake,  the 
nightmare  that  haunted  him  was  the  figure  of  the  soli- 
tary rider  he  had  met  on  the  Dairy  Road.  What  was 


214  A  DA  UGHTER  OF  HE  TIL 

the  meaning  of  those  anxious  inquiries  Lord  Earlshope 
had  then  made  ?  Why  was  he  disinclined  to  go  on  to 
his  own  place,  and  be  seen  by  the  people  of  Airlie  ? 
Why  go  to  Largs  ?  Largs,  as  the  Whaup  lay  and  re- 
membered, was  not  more  than  fifteen  miles  from  Airlie  ? 
Would  Lord  Earlshope  loiter  about  there  in  the  hope  of 
seeing  Coquette  by  stealth  ?  And  why  should  he  wish 
to  see  her?  So  the  weary  hours  of  the  night  passed, 
and  the  gray  and  wintry  dawn  began  to  tell  upon  the 
window  of  his  room.  The  questions,  with  all  their  anx- 
ieties and  doubts,  remained  unanswered  ,  and  there  had 
come  another  gloomy  day,  demanding  its  quota  of  work. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

AN  AWFUL  VISITOR 

IT  becar..e  noised  abroad  that  the  devil  had  been  scca 
in  Airlie.  The  Minister's  sons  not  only  took  up  the 
story  which  had  been  told  them  by  their  brother  Wattie. 
but  added  tc  it  and  embellished  it  until  it  assumed  quite 
dramatic  proportions,  and  was  picturesquely  minute  in  de- 
tail. The  rumor  that  grew  and  widened  in  the  village  was 
that,  on  the  Sabbath  forenooon,a  black  Something  had 
been  seen  wandering  about  in  the  snow  around  the  Manse. 
The  boys,on  returning  from  church,  had  heard  mysterious 
voices  in  the  deep  silence  of  the  small  garden.  Then 
Wattie,  drawing  near  to  the  back-door,  had  suddenly  been 
blinded  by  a  rush  of  wind  ;  flames  darted  out  from  the 
house  and  surrounded  him  ;  the  current  of  air  drove  him 
into  a  snowdrift  ;  and  the  awful  Something,  with  a  shriek 
of  fiendish  laughter,  had  gone  past  him  and  disappeared, 
and  there  was  a  low  rumble  as  of  distant  thunder  echo- 
ing along  the  hollow  stillness  of  the  sky. 

That  was  the  rumor  of  Sunday  night  and  the  follow- 
ing morning  ;  but  during  the  day  of  Monday  there  were 


A  DA  UGIITER  OF  11 'E  TH.  2  \  5 

bruited  around  some  strange  stories  of  mysterious  foot- 
prints which  had  been  perceived  in  the  snow.  A  track  had 
been  observed  leading  over  the  moor  towards  the  garden- 
wall,  and  suddenly  stopping  there.  Now,  not  only  was  it 
impossible  for  any  being  of  mortal  shape  and  limbs  to 
leap  that  high  wall,  but  there  was  this  further  peculiarity 
remarked,  that  the  footprints  formed  but  one  line.  A 
slight  fall  of  snow,  it  is  true,  during  the  morning  had 
somewhat  blurred  the  outline  of  these  marks,  but  it  was 
confidently  asserted  that  they  were  not  such  as  had  ever 
been  made  by  the  impress  of  a  human  foot. 

Towards  "nightfall  Mr.  Gillespie,  having  finished  off 
some  parochial  business,  deemed  it  his  duty  to  go  up  to 
the  Manse  to  communicate  these  disturbing  stones  to  the 
Minister.  The  Schoolmaster  had  a  visitor  that  evening, 
Mr  Cruikshanks,  the  Tailor,  who  sometimes  dropped  in 
to  have  a  glass  of  toddy  and  a  chat  over  public  affairs. 
The  Tailor  was  a  small,  thin.'black-a-viced  man,  of  highly 
nervous  temperament,  who  was  suspected  of  having  been 
a  Chartist,  and  who  had  been  known  at  a  public  meeting 
in  Saltcoats,  for  he  was  a  great  orator,  to  express  views 
which  were  of  a  wild  and  revolutionary  nature.  Never- 
theless, up  here  in  Airlie  he  conducted  himself  in  a  fitting 
manner,  went  regularly  to  church,  observed  the  Com- 
munion, never  failed  to  have  the  mended  pair  of  breeks 
or  the  new  coat  home  in  good  time  ;  and,  if  he  did  sym- 
pathize with  the  French  Republicans,  said  little  about  it. 
Indeed,  it  was  not  to  be  controverted  that  the  Pensioner 
knew  far  more  about  France  and  the  French  than  the 
excitable  little  Tailor  ;  for  the  former  had  driven  whole 
regiments  of  prisoners  before  him  like  sheep,  and  could 
tell  you  how  the  contemptible  and  weakly  things  asked 
for  water  and  bread,  using  language  of  their  own  for  want 
of  a  better  education. 

Mr.  Cruikshanks  had  also  heard  the  ugly  rumors 
current  in  the  village,  and  quite  agreed  that  the  School- 
master should  go  up  to  the  Manse. 

"  Not,"  said  he,  with  an  oratorical  gesture,  "because 
ye  believe  in  them,  sir  ;  but  because  the  Minister  maun 
be  warned  to  set  his  face  against  the  superstitions  o'  the 


B  1 6  A  DA  UGHTEK.  OF  HE  TH. 

vulgar.  The  dawn  o'  leeberty,  Mr.  Gillcspie,  though  oft 
delayed,  is  never  won  ;  and  the  triumph  o'  the  great 
principles  o'  rationalism  that  is  progress! n'  faurand  wide." 

"  Rationalism  !  rationalism  !  "  said  the  Schoolmaster 
in  dismay.  "  Do  ye  ken  what  ye'cr  saying,'  man  ?  " 

"  Which  is  not  the  rationalism  o'  the  vulgar,  sir," 
observed  the  Tailor,  calmly.  "Tis  of  another  complexion 
and  pale  cast  of  thought.  It  has  naething  to  do  wi'  relec- 
gion.  It  is  the  new  spirit,  the  blawin'  up  o'  the  auld 
fossils  and  formations,  the  light  that  never  was  in 
poet's  dream.  But  I  will  gang  \vi'  ye,  sir  to  the  Minister's, 
if  ye  are  so  minded." 

The  two  went  out  together.  By  the  help  of  the  red 
light  from  the  small  windows  they  picked  their  way 
through  the  muddy  and  half-melted  snow  of  the  village 
streets.  When  they  had  got  clear  of  the  small  houses, 
they  found  the  thick  snow  lying  crisp  and  dry  on  the 
highway,  and  it  needed  all  their  watchfulness  to  decipher, 
by  the  aid  of  the  starlight,  the  line  of  the  moorland  road. 
There  was  no  one  abroad  at  that  honr.  The  villagers 
had  been  glad  to  get  into  their  warm  homes  out  of  the 
cold  and  frosty  wind  that  blew  along  the  white  surface 
of  the  snow.  From  over  the  broad  moor  there  came  not 
the  least  sound  ;  and  the  only  living  thing  visible  seemed 
the  countless  myriads  of  stars,  which  shone  coldly  and 
clearly  through  the  frosty  atmosphere.  The  School- 
master and  his  companion  spoke  but  little  ;  they  were  too 
much  engaged  in  finding  the  path  through  the  snow. 

Suddenly  the  Tailor  stopped,  and  involuntarily  laid 
his  hand  on  his  neighbor's  arm. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  said  the  Schoolmaster,  with  a  stait. 

But  he  had  scarcely  uttered  the  words  when  he  saw 
what  had  caused  his  companion  to  stand  still,  with  his 
face  looking  over  the  moor.  Before  them,  a  dark  mass 
in  the  starlight,  stood  Airlie  Church,  and  at  one  end  of 
it — that  farthest  from  the  door — the  windows  seemed  to 
be  lighted  up  with  a  dull  red  glow. 

"  Wha  can  be  in  the  kirk  at  this  time  o'  night  ?  "  said 
the  Schoolmaster,  forgetting  to  choose  proper  English 
phrases. 


A  DA  UGHTER  OF  HE  Tff.  217 

The  Tailor  said  nothing.  He  was  thinking  of  Allo- 
way  Kirk  and  the  wild  revels  that  had  been  celebrated 
there.  His  talk  about  the  superstitions  of  the  vulgar 
had  gone  from  his  memory  ;  he  only  saw  before  him, 
over  a  waste  of  snow  and  under  a  starlit  sky,  a  church 
which  could  for  no  possible  reason  be  occupied,  but  which 
had  its  windows  touched  from  the  inside  with  a  glow  of 
light. 

"  Man  and  boy,"  said  the  Schoolmaster,  "  I  have  lived 
in  Airlie  these  twenty  years,  and  never  saw  the  like.  It 
is  a  fearsome  licht  that.  It  would  be  our  duty  to  go  and 
see  what  it  means " 

"  There  I  dinna  agree  wi'  ye,"  said  the  Tailor,  quite 
fiercely.  "  What  business  is  it  o'  ours  ?  Folks  dinna 
sweeten  their  ain  yill  by  meddlin'  wi'  other  folk's  barrels. 
I  am  for  lettin'  the  kirk  alane.  Doubtless  it  is  lichted 
up  for  some  purpose.  Why,  dinna  ye  ken  that  the  Min- 
ister's niece  was  brought  up  as  a  Roman  ;  and  th  it  the 
Catholics  like  to  hae  a'  manner  o'  mysterious  services  in 
the  dead  o'  nicht  ?  " 

This  explanation  seemed  to  afford  the  Tailor  very 
great  relief.  He  insisted  upon  it  even  to  the  point  of 
losing  his  temper.  What  right  had  the  Schoolmaster  to 
interfere  with  other  people's  religion  ?  Why  didn't  he 
do  as  he  would  be  done  by  ? 

"  But  we  ought  to  see  what  it  is,"  said  the  School- 
master. 

"Ye  may  gang  if  ye  like,"  said  the  Tailor,  firmly. 
"  Deil  the  bit  o'  me  '11  steer  !  " 

The  Schoolmaster  drew  back.  He  was  not  going  to 
cross  the  moor  alone — especially  with  those  rumors  of 
mysterious  footprints  about. 

"  Perhaps  ye  are  right,  Mr.  Cruikshanks,"  he  said. 
"  But  we  maun  gang  on  and  tell  the  Minister." 

"  Surely,  surely,"  said  the  Tailor,  with  eagerness. 
"  We  hae  a  sacred  duty  to  perform.  We  maun  get  lights 
to  see  our  way,  and  the  keys  o'  the  kirk,  and  the  Minister 
and  Andrew  Bogue  will  come  wi'  us.  The  notion  o'  its 
being  witches — ha  !  ha  ! — it  is  quite  rideeklous.  Such 
superstitions,  sir,  have  power  wi'  the  vulgar,  but  wi'  men 


2 1 S  A  DA  UGHTER  OF  HE  TIL 

like  you  and  me,  Mr.  Gillespie,  wha  have  studied  such 
things,  and  appeal  to  the  licht  o'  reason,  it  is  not  for  us 
to  give  way  to  idle  fears.  No  ;  we  will  go  up  to  the  door 
o'  the  kirk,  and  we  will  have  the  matter  explained  on 
rationalistic  principles " 

"  I  wish,  Mr.  Cruikshanks,"  said  the  Schoolmaster, 
with  a  sort  of  nervous  anxiety  and  anger,  "ye  wouldna 
talk  and  talk  about  your  rationalism  and  your  rationalistic 
principles.  I  declare,  to  hear  ye,  ane  would  think  there 
wasna  a  heeven  above  us." 

But  the  Tailor  continued  his  discourse  on  the  sub- 
lime powers  of  reason,  and  waxed  more  and  more  buoy- 
ant and  eloquent,  until,  the  two  having  reached  the  gate 
of  the  Manse,  the  Tailor  turned  upon  his  companion, 
and  with  scorn  hinted  that  he,  the  Schoolmaster,  had 
succumbed  to  childish  fears  on  seeing  the  kirk  windows 
lit  up. 

"  What  more  simple,"  said  the  Tailor,  in  his  grandest 
manner,  "than  to  have  walked  up  to  the  door,  gone  in, 
and  demanded  to  know  what  was  the  reason  o'  the  licht  ? 
That  is  what  common  sense  and  reason  would  dictate  ; 
but  when  fears  and  superstitions  rise  and  dethrone  the 
monarch  from  his  state,  the  lord  of  all  is  but  a  trumpery 
vassal,  the  meanest  at  his  gate." 

The  Schoolmaster  was  too  indignant,  and  perhaps 
too  much  relieved  on  finding  himself  within  the  shelter 
of  the  Manse  wall,  to  reply.  The  two  neighbors  walked 
up  to  the  door  of  the  Manse,  looking  rather  supiciously 
at  the  gloomy  corners  around  them,  and  the  black  shad- 
ows of  the  trees,  and  knocked.  The  door  was  opened 
half  an  inch. 

"  Who's  there  ? "  said  Leezibeth. 

"Me,"  said  the  Schoolmaster. 

"Who's  me?"  said  the  voice  from  within,  the  door 
being  still  kept  on  the  point  of  shutting. 

"  Bless  my  life  and  body ! "  cried  the  Schoolmaster, 
provoked  out  of  all  patience.  "  Is  this  a  night  to  keep 
a  human  being  starving  in  the  snaw  ?  Let  us  in, 
woman  ! " 

With  which  he  drove  the  door  before  him  and  entered 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HE  TIL 


219 


the  passage,  confronting  the  terrified  Leezibeth,  who 
dropped  her  candle  there  and  then,  and  left  the  place 
in  darkness. 

The  Minister  opened  the  parlor  door,  and  the  light 
streamed  out  on  the  strangers.  Without  being  asked, 
the  Schoolmaster  and  the  Tailor  stumbled  into  the 
room,  and  stood,  with  eyes  dazed  by  the  light,  alter- 
nately looking  at  the  Minister  and  at  Coquette,  who  lay 
on  the  sofa  with  an  open  book  beside  her. 

"  What  is  the  matter?  what  is  the  matter?"  said 
the  Minister;  for  both  the  men  seemed  speechless 
with  fear. 

"  Has  she  no  been  at  the  kirk  the  nicht?"  said  the 
Tailor. 

"Who?"    said   the    Minister,    beginning   to   think 
that  both  of  his  visitors  must  be  drunk. 

"  Her,"  said  the  Tailor,  "your  niece,  sir,  Miss 
Cassilis." 

"  At  the  kirk  ?  She  has  not  been  out  of  the  house 
for  months." 

"  But — but — but  there  is  somebody  in  the  kirk  at 
this  present  meenute,"  said  the  Tailor,  breathlessly. 

"  Nonsense ! "  said  the  Minister,  with  some  im- 
patience. "  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  As  sure  as  daith,  sir,  the  kirk's  in  a  lowe  ! "  blurted 
out  the  Tailor  again,  though  he  still  kept  his  eyes 
glaring  in  a  fascinated  way  on  Coquette. 

To  tell  the  truth,  Coquette  began  to  laugh.  The 
appearance  and  talk  of  the  two  strangers,  whether  the 
result  of  drink  or  of  fright,  were  altogether  so  abnormal 
and  ludicrous  that,  for  the  life  of  her,  she  could  not  keep 
from  smiling.  Unfortunately,  this  conduct  on  her  part, 
occurring  at  such  a  moment,  seemed  to  confirm  the 
•suspicions  of  the  two  men.  They  regarded  her  as  if 
she  were  a  witch  who  had  been  playing  pranks  with 
them  on  the  moor,  had  whipped  herself  home,  and  was 
now  mocking  them.  Vague  recollections  of  "  Tam  o' 
Shanter"  filled  their  minds  with  forebodings.  Who 
knew  but  that  she  was  connected  with  these  mysterious 
things  of  which  the  village  had  been  talking  ?  Why 


220  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HE  Til. 

should  the  stories  have  centred  upon  the  Manse  ?  Was 
she  not  a  Roman  and  a  foreigner,  a  creature  whose  dark 
eyes  were  full  of  concealed  meaning,  of  malicious  mis- 
chief, of  unholy  laughter  ?  No  wonder  there  were 
strange  footprints  about,  or  that  the  kirk  was  "  in  a 
lowe"  at  midnight. 

The  Minister  abruptly  recalled  them  from  their 
dazed  and  nervous  speculations  by  demanding  to  know 
what  they  had  seen.  Together  they  managed  to  pro- 
duce the'story  in  full  ;  and  the  Minister  said  he  would 
himself  at  once  go  over  the  moor  to  the  kirk. 

"  Micht  not  Andrew  Bogue  come  wi'  a  lantern  ?  " 
said  the  Tailor  ;  and  the  Minister  at  once  assented. 

With  that  the  spirits  of  the  two  heroes  rose.  They 
would  inquire  into  this  matter.  They  would  have  no 
devilish  cantrips  going  on  in  the  parish,  if  they  could 
help  it.  And  so  they  once  more  sallied  out  into  the 
cold  night  air,  and,  with  much  loud  talking  and  con- 
fident suggestion  struck  across  the  snow  of  the  moor. 

As  they  drew  near  to  the  srhall  church  the  talking 
died  down.  The  red  light  was  clearly  seen  in  the 
windows.  Andrew  Bogue,  who  had  been  a  few  steps 
ahead  of  the  party,  inorder  to  show  them  the  way, 
suggested  that  he  should  fall  behind,  so  that  the  light 
would  shine  more  clearly  around  their  feet.  Against 
this  both  the  Schoolmaster  and  the  Tailor  strongly 
protested  ;  and  the  discussion  ended  by  the  Minister 
impatiently  taking  the  lamp  into  his  own  hand  and  go- 
ing forward.  The  posse  comitatus  followed,  close,  and 
in  deep  silence.  Indeed,  there  was  not  a  sound 
heard,  save  the  soft  yielding  of  the  crisp  snow  ;  and  in 
the  awful  stillness,  under  the  great  canopy  of  sparkling, 
stars,  the  red  windows  of  the  small  and  dark  building 
glimmered  in  front  of  them. 

The  Minister  walked  up  to  the  door,  the  others 
keeping  close  behind  him.  He  endeavored  to  open  it; 
it  was  locked. 

"  The  keys,  Andrew,"  he  said. 

"  I — I — I  dinna  bring  any  keys,"  said  Andrew,  testily. 


A  DA  UGHTER  OF  HE  TIL  2  2 1 

He  was  angry  with  his  tongue    for  stammering,  and 
with  his  throat  for  choking. 

"  And  how  did  ye  expect  us  to  get  in  ? "  said  the 
Minister. 

"  Why,  I  thocht — I  thocht  that  if  there  was  any- 
body in  the  kirk,  the  door  would  be  open,"  said  An- 
drew, in  a  querulous  whisper. 

"  Go  back  to  the  Manse  and  get  them,"  said  the 
Minister,  perhaps  with  concealed  irony. 

"  By  mysel'  "  said  Andrew.  "  Across  the  moor  by 
mysel'  ?  What  for  does  any  human  being  want  to  get 
into  the  kirk  ?  Doubtless  there  are  some  bits  o'  wan- 
derm'  bodies  inside  ;  would  ye  turn  them  out  in  the 
could  ?  If  ye  do  want  to  look  into  the  kirk,  there  is  a 
ladder  'at  ye  can  pit  against  the  waV 

Andrew  was  ordered  to  bring  the  ladder  ;  but  he 
professed  his  inability  to  carry  it.  The  Schoolmaster 
and  the  Tailor  went  with  him  to  a  nook  behind  some 
back-door,  and  presently  reappeared — walking  stealthily 
and  conversing  in  whispers,  with  the  ladder,  which  they 
placed  against  the  wall.  The  Schoolmaster,  with  a 
splendid  assumption  of  bravery,  clambered  up  the  steps, 
and  paused  when  the  tip  of  his  nose  received  the  light 
from  the  panes.  The  others  awaited  his  report  breath- 
lessly. 

"  I  canna  see  anything,"  he  whispered,  coming  down 
rather  rapidly. 

But  where  the  Schoolmaster  had  gone  the  Tailor 
would  go.  Mr.  Cruikshanks  went  bravely  up  the  ladder, 
and  peered  in  at  the  window.  What  could  be  the  mean- 
ing of  this  ghastly  stillness,  and  the  yellow  light  burn- 
ing somewhere  in  the  church  ?  He  had  heard  of  awful 
scenes,  in  which  corpse-lights  had  come  forth  all  over  a 
churchyard,  and  vague  forms  flitted  about,  in  the  midst 
of  peals  of  demoniac  laughter.  But  here  was  no  sound, 
no  movement,  only  the  still  glare  of  a  ruddy  light, 
coming  from  whence  he  knew  not. 

But  what  was  that  echoed  along  the  empty  church  ? 
The  Tailor  grasped  the  top  rung  of  the  ladder.  He 
would  have  given  worlds  to  have  got  down,  but  if  he  had 


222  '  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HE  Til > 

let  go  his  trembling  legs  would  have  thrown  him  back- 
ward. Something  was  moving  in  the  dim  and  solitary 
church  ;  his  breath  came  and  went,  his  head  swam  around, 
— the  ladder  trembled  with  his  grasp.  Suddenly  there 
was  a  startling  cry,  an  awful  and  appalling  shriek  from 
the  Schoolmaster,  as  he  turned  to  find,  in  the  darkness, 
a  figure  approaching  him.  Andrew  fell  back  from  the 
foot  of  the  ladder ;  and  the  next  moment  down  came  the 
ladder  and  the  Tailor  together  with  a  crash  upon  Andrew 
and  his  lamp,  burying  the  one  in  the  snow  and  smashing 
the  other  to  pieces.  A  succession  of  piercing  cries  from 
the  Tailor  broke  the  silence  of  the  moor  ;  until  the  Min- 
ister, dragging  him  out  of  the  snow,  bade  him  cease  his 
howling.  The  Schoolmaster  had  abruptly  retreated  ; 
until  the  group  of  explorers,  partly  on  the  ground  and 
partly  upright,  was  approached  by  this  dusky  figure. 

"  What  is  that  ?  "  said  the  Schoolmaster,  in  an  agon- 
ized whisper.  "  Oh,  what  is't  ?  what  is't  ?  What  can 
it  be,  sir  ?  Speak  till't !  " 

The  Minister,  having  put  the  Tailor  on  his  legs, 
though  they  were  scarcely  able  to  support  him,  turned 
to  the  new-comer,  and  said, — 

"  Well,  who  are  you  ?  " 

"  Me,  sir  ?  Me  ?  "  said  a  deep  bass  voice,  in  rather 
an  injured  tone,  "  I'm  Tammas  Kilpatrick." 

"What!  Kilpatrick  the  joiner?"  said  the  School- 
master. 

"  Well,  I  hope  sae,"  said  the  man,  "  and  I  dinna  ken 
what  for  ye  should  run  away  frae  a  man  as  though  he 
was  a  warlock." 

"  But  how  came  ye  in.  the  kirk  at  this  time  o'  night  ?"* 
said  the  Minister. 

"  Deed,  ye  may  well  ask,"  said  the  worthy  joiner,  "for 
it's  little  my  maister  allows  me  for  overtime ;  and  if  he 
will  put  me  to  jobs  like  this  after  my  day's  work  is  done, 
I  hope  he'll  gie  me  some  fire  and  better  company  than  a 
wheen  rats  and  mice.  Will  Mr.  Bogue  take  hame  the 
keys  that  my  maister  got  frae  his  wife  this  afternoon  ? " 

But  Mr.  Bogue  was  still  in  the  snow,  groaning. 
When  they  picked  him  up  they  found  the  lantern  had 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH.  223 

severely  cut  his  nose,  which  was  bleeding  freely.  Where- 
upon the  Schoolmaster  waxed  valiant,  and  vouchsafed  to 
the  joiner  an  explanation^  of  the  panic,  which,  he  said, 
was  the  work  "  o'  that  poor  body,  the  Tailor.  And,  mark 
me,  Mr.  Kilpaitrick,"  he  added,  "  it  is  not  every  man  that 
would  have  insisted  on  seeing  to  the  bottom  o'  this  maitter, 
as  I  did  this  night.  It  was  our  duty  to  investigate,  or, 
as  I  might  say,  to  examine,  into  what  might  have  raised 
superstitious  fears  in  Airlie,  especially  as  regards  the 
stories  that  have  been  about.  It  shames  me  that,  as  we 
were  proceeding  in  a  lawful,  or,  I  might  say,  legitimate, 
manner  to  inquire,  that  poor  body,  the  Tailor,  should  have 
set  up  an  eldritch  screech,  as  if  he  was  possessed.  He 
is  a  poor  body,  that  Tailor,  and  subject  to  the  fears  of 
the  vulgar.  If  ye  hear  the  neighbors  talk  o'  this  night's 
doings,  ye  will  be  able,  Mr.  Kilpaitrick,  to  say  who  be- 
haved themselves  like  men  ;  and  I'm  thinking  that  we 
will  be  glad  o'  your  company  across  the  moor,  and  ye  will 
then  come  in  and  hae  a  glass  o'  toddy  wi'  us,  Mr.  Kil- 
paitrick. As  for  the  Tailor  there,  the  poor  craytur  has 
scarcely  come  to  his  senses  yet ;  but  we  maun  take  him 
safe  hame." 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

JN  THE  SPRINGTIME. 

WHY  was  there  no  mention  of  Lord  Earlshope  in 
the  letters  from  Airlie  which  reached  the  Whaup  in  his 
Glasgow  lodging  ?  The  lad  was  too  proud  to  ask  ;  but 
he  many  a  time  wondered  whether  Lord  Earlshope  was 
now  paying  visits  to  the  Manse,  as  in  the  bygone  time 
and  watching  the  progress  of  Coquette's  'restoration  to 
health.  Indeed,  the  letters  that  came  up  from  the  moor- 
land village  were  filled  with  nothing  but  Coquette,  and 
Coquette,  and  Coquette.  The  boys  now  openly  called 


224 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 


her  by  this  familiar  name ;  and  her  sayings  and  doings, 
the  presents  she  made  them,  and  the  presents  she  prom- 
ised to  give  them  when  she  should  go  to  Glasgow  oc- 
cupied their  correspondence  almost  to  the  exclusion  of 
stories  of  snow-battles  with  the  lads  of  the  village. 

At  last  the  Whaup  wrote  and  asked  what  Lord  Earls  - 
hope  was  doing. 

The  reply  came  that  he  had  not  been  in  Airlie  since 
the  previous  autumn. 

44  Why,  he  must  be  mad  ! '  said  the  Whaup  to  himself. 
"  Not  go  on  to  his  own  house  when  he  was  within  two 
or  three  miles  of  it !  These  French  novels  have  turned 
his  head  ;  we  shall  have  him  presently  figuring  as  the 
hero  of  a  fine  bigamy  case,  of  poisoning  himself  with 
charcoal  fumes,  or  doing  something  equally  French. 
Perhaps  he  has  done  something  desperate,  in  his  youth, 
and  now  reads  French  novels  to  see  what  they  have  to 
say  on  the  subject." 

Among  other  intelligence  sent  him  by  his  correspon- 
dents during  the  winter  was  that  on  the  morning  of 
New-year's  Day  there  had  arrived  at  the  Manse,  directed 
to  that  young  lady,  a  large  and  magnificent  volume  of 
water-color  sketches  of  the  Loire.  The  grandeur  of  this 
book,  its  binding  and  its  contents,  was  all  a  wonder  at 
the  Manse  ;  and  the  youngest  of  the  Whaup's  brothers 
expressed  his  admiration  in  these  terms  : — 

"It  is  most  wonderful.  The  boards  is  made  oftortis- 
shell,  with  white  saytin  and  wreaths  of  silk  roses  and 
flowers  in  different  colors  all  around  it.  There  is  a  back 
of  scaurlet  marrocca  leather,  with  gilt.  And  she  put  it 
on  the  table,  and  when  she  began  to  turn  it  over  she 
laughed,  and  clapped  her  hands  thegither,  and  was  fair 
daft  with  looking  at  it  ;  but,  as  she  went  on,  she  stopped, 
and  we  all  saw,  that  she  was  greetin'.  I  suppose  it  was 
some  place  she  kenned. 

No  one  knew  definitely  who  had  sent  this  gorgeous 
book,  not  even  Coquette  herself ;  but  the  popular  opinion 
of  the  Manse  settled  that  it  must  have  been  Lady  Drum 
There  were  only  two  people,  widely  apart,  who  had  an- 
other suspicion  in   the  matter   and   these  two  were  Co- 


A  DA  UGHTER  OF  HE  TH.  225 

quelte  and  the  Whaup.  Meanwhile,  if  the  book  had 
come  from  Lord  Earlshope,  it  was  accompanied  by  no 
sign  or  token  from  him  ;  and,  indeed,  his  name  was  now 
scarcely  ever  mentioned  in  the  Manse. 

And  so  the  long  and  hard  winter  passed  away  ;  and 
there  came  at  last  a  new  light  into  the  air,  and  soft  and 
thawing  winds  from  over  the  sea.  The  spring  had  ar- 
rived, with  its  warm  and  sweet  breezes  ;  and  over  all  the 
countryside  there  began  to  peep  out  tiny  buds  of  brown 
and  green,  with  here  and  there,  in  many  a  secret  nook 
and  corner,  the  pale  yellow  wonder  of  a  flower.  And  at 
last,  too,  Coquette  got  out  of  the  house,  and  began  to 
drink  in  new  life  from  the  mild  breezes  and  the  clear 
blue-white  air.  Her  eyes  were  perhaps  a  trifle  wistful, 
or  even  sad,  when  she  first  got  abroad  again  ;  for  the 
springtime  revives  many  memories,  and  ij  not  always  a 
glad  season  ;  but  in  a  little  while  the  stirring  of  new 
health  and  blood  in  Coquette's  pale  cheeks  began  to  re- 
call her  to  her  usual  spirits.  The  forenoon  was  her 
principal  time  for  going  out ;  and,  as  the  boys  were  then 
at  Mr.  Gillespie's  school,  she  learned  to  wander  about 
alone,  discovering  all  manner  of  secret  dells  about  the 
woods  where  the  wild  flowers  were  sure  to  be  found. 
Many  and  many  a  day  she  came  home  laden  with  hya- 
cinths and  violets  and  anemones,  and  the  white  stars  of 
the  stitchwort ;  and  she  brought  home,  too,  a  far  more 
valuable  and  beautiful  flower  in  the  bloom  which  every 
one  saw  gathering  on  her  cheek.  Sometimes  she  pre- 
vailed on  her  uncle  to  accompany  her ;  and  she  would 
take  the  old  man's  arm  and  lead  him  into  strange  wood- 
land places  of  which  he  had  but  little  knowledge.  Leezi- 
beth  was  so  delighted  to  see  the  girl  become  her  former 
self  that  she  was  more  than  usually  pugnacious  towards 
Andrew,  as  if  that  worthy  but  sour-tempered  man  had 
been  harboring  dark  projects  against  the  girl's  health. 
Leezibeth,  indeed,  had  wholly  gone  over  to  the  enemy  ; 
and  Andrew  sadly  shook  his  head  and  comforted  himself 
with  prophecies  of  evil  and  lamentation. 
One  day  Coquette  had  wandered  down  to  the  very  wood 
in  which  the  Whaup  had  caught  Neal  Lament  poaching. 


2  2  b  A  DA  UGHTEK.  OF  HE  TIL 

She  had  been  exceptionally  lucky  in  her  quest  for  new 
flowers  ;  and  had  got  up  a  quite  respectable  bouquet  for 
the  study  mantelpiece.  Then  she  had  that  morning  re- 
ceived from  France  a  little  song  of  Gounod's,  which  was 
abundantly  popular  there  at  the  time.  So,  out  of  mere 
lightness  of  heait,  she  came  walking  through  the  wood, 
and  sang  to  herself  carelessly  as  she  went, — 

"  La  voile  ouvre  son  aile 

La  brise  va  souffler— er — er— er — ," 

when  suddenly  her  voice  died  down.  Who  was  that 
coming  along  the  road  in  the  direction  of  Arlie.  A  faint- 
ness  came  over  her,  she  caught  hold  of  a  branch  of  a  fir, 
and  then,  with  a  half-instinctive  fear,  she  drew  back  with- 
in  the  shelter  of  a  few  tall  stems.  It  was  Lord  Earls- 
hope  who  was  passing  along  the  road,  walking  slowly 
and  idly,  and  apparently  taking  no  notice  of  the  objects 
around  him. 

Her  heart  beat  quickly,  and  her  whole  frame  trem- 
bled, as  she  remained  cowering  until  even  the  sound  of 
his  footsteps  had  died  away.  Then  she  stole  out  of  the 
wood,  and  hurriedly  followed  a  circuitous  route  which 
landed  her  breathless,  and  yet  thankful,  within  the  safety 
of  the  Manse.  He  had  not  observed  her. 

But  he  was  in  the  neighborhood.  He  had  returned 
from  abroad.  Perhaps  he  would  go  away  again  without 
even  seeing  her  and  speaking  to  her  for  a  moment,  un- 
less, indeed,  she  happened  to  be  out  the  next  forenoon 
and  meet  him. 

"  You  must  not  fall  back  into  any  of  your  dull  moods, 
Catherine,"  said  the  Minister,  in  a  cheerful  way,  to  her 
that  evening,  as  he  happened  to  perceive  her  unwonted 
silence,  and  the  pensive  look  of  her  eyes. 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH.  227 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

OVER   THE    MOOR. 

COQUETTE'S  sleep  that  night  was  full  of  dreams  of  a 
meeting  with  Lord  Earlshope ;  and  in  the  morning  she 
awoke  with  a  confused  sense  of  having  been -wandering 
with  him  in  a  strange  land,  which  had  a  sombre  sky  over 
it,  and  all  around  it  the  moaning  of  the  sea.  She  seemed 
to  have  a  notion  that  the  place  was  familiar  to  her ;  and 
gradually  out  of  her  memory  she  was  able  to  recall  the 
features  of  a  certain  gloomy  bay,  overshadowed  by  tall 
mountains. 

"  I  will  remember  no  more  of  it,"  she  said  to  her- 
self, dreamily.  "  That  island,  is  it  always  coming  back  ?  " 

Yet  those  dreams  left  a  troubled  impression  behind 
them  ;  and  she  began  to  think  with  some  foreboding  and 
fear  of  a  possible  meeting  with  Lord  Earlshope  if  she 
went  out  for  her  accustomed  walk.  Dared  she  meet 
him  !  Or  what  if  he  were  here  only  for  a  brief  time,  and 
went  away  without  a  word  ?  As  she  calculated  anxiously 
the  probabilities  of  his  going,  and  tried  to  decide  whether 
she  should  avoid  meeting  him,  a  great  dash  of  rain 
smote  on  the  windows  of  the  Manse,  aglimmerof  morn- 
ing sunlight  also  struck  the  panes,  and  a  blustering 
April  wind  blew  about  the  chimneys. 

4<  Rain  ! "  she  cried,  as  though  she  were  glad  of  any- 
thing to  resolve  her  anxious  doubts.  "  Then  I  do  not 

go." 

She  got  up  and  dressed  quickly.  There  were  no  blinds 
needed  for  the  small  windows  that  looked  across  the 
moor.  During  the  progress  of  her  toilette  she  could  see 
the  wild  glare  of  the  spring  sunshine  that  chased  the 
rapid  and  riven  clouds  which  the  wind  was  blowing  over 
the  sea.  On  they  came  in  thunderous  masses  and  filmy 
streaks,  here  dark  and  rainy,  there  struck  into  silver  by 
the  sunlight :  while  from  time  to  time  there  was  a  period 


228  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HE TH. 

of  threatening  gloom,  followed  by  the  heavy  pattering 
of  a  shower  on  the  window  and  slates,  and  then  the  wild 
yellow  light  again  shining  out  on  the  dripping  trees,  on 
the  wet  moor,  and  on  the  far  blue  plain  that  lay  around 
Arran. 

"  You  are  in  much  better  spirits  this  morning,"  said 
the  Minister  at  breakfast,  after  Coquette  had  been  lectur- 
ing the  boys  in  a  very  grand  and  mock-heroic  fashion. 

"  Yes,  in  spite  of  your  abominating  weather,"  she  re- 
plied. "  Last  night,  still  and  clear,  this  morning  a  hurri- 
cane !  Why  is  your  weather  so  wild,  and  your  Scotch 
people  so  quiet  ?  They  are  not  stormy,  no  bad  temper, 
no  fits  of  passion,  all  smooth  and  serious  and  solemn,  as 
if  they  did  go  to  a  churchyard.'' 

"  And  that  is  where  we  all  of  us  are  going,  whether 
in  Scotland  or  France,"  said  the  Minister,  with  a  serious 
smile. 

"  Yet  why  always  think  of  it  ?  "  said  Coquette,  lightly. 
4<  Why  you  make  the  road  to  the  churchyard  a  church- 
yard also  ?  No,  it  is  not  reasonable.  We  shall  be  pleas- 
ant, and  amuse  ourselves  in  the  meantime.  Ah  !  now  do 
look  at  the  faces  of  all  those  boys  ;  do  they  think  me 
wicked  ?  " 

Indeed,  the  row  of  solemn  and  awestruck  faces  which 
listened  to  Coquette's  Sadduceeism  provoked  her  into  a 
fit  of  laughter,  which  Leezibeth  checked  by  coming  into 
the  room  and  asking  abruptly  if  more  tea  were  wanted. 

Coquette  had  apparently  forgotten  that  she  had  been 
troubled  that  morning  about  Lord  Earlshope.  The  bois- 
terous weather  had  prevented  her  going  out,  so  that  no 
choice  remained  to  her.  But  when,  after  the  boys  had 
been  despatched  to  school,  she  was  left  to  herself  and 
her  solitary  employment  at  the  piano,  her  vivacity  of  the 
morning  died  away.  Without  any  intention  she  wan- 
dered into  melancholy  strains,  and  played  half -forgotten 
ballad-airs  which  she  had  heard  among  the  peasantry  of 
Mcrbihan.  She  began  to  cast  wistful  glances  towards 
the  windows  and  the  changeable  landcape  outside.  At 
last  she  gave  up  the  piano,  and  went  to  one  of  the  win- 
dows and  took  a  seat  there.  The  intervals  of  sunlight 


4  DAUGHTER  OF  HRTH.  229 

were  growing  lavger.  The  clouds  seemed  more  light 
and  fleecy.  There  was  a  gray  mist  of  rain  down  in  the 
south,  over  Ayr ;  but  all  around  her  the  wet  landscape 
was  shining  in  its  young  spring  greens  and  blues,  and  the 
gusty  west  wind,  blowing  a  warm  and  moist  fragrance 
about  the  garden,  could  not  quite  drown  the  music  of  the 
thrushes  and  blackbirds.  The  sky  cleared  more  and 
more.  Even  in  the  south  the  rain  mist  lifted,  and  the 
sunlight  played  around  the  far  promontory.  Finally  the 
wind  died  away,  and  over  all  the  land  there  seemed  to 
reign  the  fresh,  clear,  brightness  and  sweetness  cf  an 
April  morning. 

Coquette  put  on  her  small  hat  (  with  its  dash  of  sea- 
bird  plumage)  and  a  warm  gray  woollen  shawl,  and  went 
out.  Her  light  foot  was  not  heard  leaving  the  house  ; 
and  in  a  few  minutes  she  was  out  on  the  moorland  road, 
all  around  her  the  shining  beauty  of  the  spring  day  and 
the  glistening  of  the  recent  rain.  At  another  time  she 
would  have  rejoiced  in  the  clear  sunshine  and  the  genial 
warmth  of  the  western  breezes ;  to-day  she  seemed 
thoughtful  and  apprehensive,  and  dared  scarcely  look 
over  the  moor.  She  wandered  on,  her  head  somewhat 
downcast,  and  when  she  paused  it  was  merely  to  pick  up 
some  tiny  flowers  from  among  the  wet  grass.  It  was 
only  by  a  sort  of  instinct  that  she  avoided  the  red  pools 
which  the  rain  had  left  in  the  road  ;  she  seemed  to  walk 
on,  in  the  opposite  direction  from  Airlie,  as  if  she  were 
in  a  dream. 

She  became  aware  that  there  was  some  one  crossing 
over  the  moor  on  her  right ;  still  she  did  not  look  up. 
Indeed,  before  she  could  collect  herself  to  consider  how 
she  should  speak  to  Lord  Earlshope,  supposing  he  weie 
to  meet  her,  the  stranger  had  overtaken  her,  and  pro- 
nounced her  name. 

She  turned,  a  trifle  pale,  perhaps,  but  quite  self-pos- 
sessed, and  regarded  him  for  one  brief  second.  Then 
she  stepped  forward  and  offered  him  her  hand.  During 
that  instant  he,  too,  regarded  her,  in  a  somewhat  strange 
way,  before  meeting  her  advances  and  then  he  said, — 

"  Have  you  really  forgiven  me  ?  " 


23C 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 


"  That  is  all  over,"  she  said,  in  a  low  but  quite  dis- 
tinct voice,  "  all  over  and  forgotten.  It  does  do  no  good 
to  bring  it  back.  You,  have  you  been  very  well  ?  '9 

He  looked  at  her  again,  with  something  of  wonder 
in  the  admiration  visible  in  his  eyes. 

"  How  very  good  you  are  !  I  have  been  wandering 
all  over  Europe,  feeling  as  though  I  had  the  brand  of 
Cain  on  my  forehead.  I  come  back  to  hear  that  you 
have  been  dangerously  ill,  without  my  having  any  knowl 
edge  of  it.  I  hang  about,  trying  to  get  a  word  of  ex 
planation  said  to  you  personally  before  calling  at  the 
Manse,  and  now  you  come  forward,  in  your  old  straight- 
forward way,  as  if  nothing  had  happened,  and  you  offer 
me  your  hand  just  as  if  I  were  your  friend. ' 

"  Are  you  not  my  friend  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  deserve  to  be  anybody's  friend." 

"  That  is  nonsense,"  said  Coquette.  "  Your  talk  of 
Cain,  your  going  away,  your  fears,  I  do  not  understand 
it  at  all." 

"  No,"  said  he.  "  Nor  would  you  ever  understand 
how  much  I  have  to  claim  forgiveness  for  without  a 
series  of  explanations  which  I  shall  make  to  you  some 
day,  I  have  not  the  courage  to  do  it  now.  I  should 
run  the  risk  of  forfeiting  the  right  ever  to  speak  another 
word  to  you." 

Coquette  drew  back,  and  regarded  him  steadfastly. 

"  There,"  said  he,  "  didn't  I  tell  you  what  would 
happen  ?  You  are  becoming  afraid  of  me.  You  have 
no  reason." 

"  I  believe  you,"  she  said  ;  "  but  I  do  not  understand 
why  all  this  secrecy,  all  this  mystery.  It  is  very  strange 
to  me,  all  your  actions  ;  and  you  should  be  more  frank, 
and  believe  I  will  not  make  bad  interpretation.  You 
wish  to  be  my  friend  ?  I  am  well  pleased  of  that,  but 
why  you  make  so  many  secrets  ?  " 

<4 1  cannot  tell  you  now,"  he  said,  hurriedly.  "  I  am 
too  anxious  to  believe  that  you  have  forgiven  me  for 
what  happened  on  that  hideous  night.  I  was  mad,  I 
\vas  beside  myself,  I  don't  know  what  possession  I 
labored  under  to  make  a  proposal " 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HRTH.  231 

"  Ah,  why  bring  it  all  back  ?  "  said  Coquette.  "  Is 
it  not  better  to  forget  it  ?  Let  us  be  as  we  were  before 
we  went  away  in  the  yacht.  You  shall  meet  me.  I 
shall  speak  to  you  as  usual.  We  shall  forget  the  old 
misfortunes.  You  will  come  to  the  manse  sometimes, 
as  you  did  before.  You  must  believe  me,  it  will  be  very 
simple  and  natural  if  you  do  try  ;  and  you  shall  find  your- 
self able  to  be  very  good  friends  with  all  of  us,  and  no 
•more  brands  of  Cain  on  your  forehead." 

He  saw  in  her  soft  eyes  that  she  faithfully  meant 
what  she  said  ;  and  then,  with  a  sort  of  effort,  he  said, — 

"  Come,  let  us  walk  along,  and  I  will  talk  to  you  as  you 
go.  There  is  a  path  along  here  by  which  you  can  cross 
the  moor,  and  get  back  to  the  Manse  by  Hechton 
Mains." 

How  glad  she  was  to  walk  by  his  side  in  this  fashion  ! 
It  was  so  pleasant  to  hear  his  voice,  and  to  know  that 
the  grave  kindliness  of  his  eyes  sometimes  met  hers,that 
she  did  not  stop  to  ask  whether  it  were  merely  as  friends 
they  were  walking  together.  Nor  did  she  notice,  so 
glad  was  she,  how  constrained  was  his  talk  ;  how  he 
was  sometimes,  in  moments  of  deep  silence,  regarding 
her  face  with  a  look  which  had  the  blackness  of  despair 
in  it.  She  chatted  on,  pleased  and  happy  ;  breaking 
imperiously  away  from  all  mention  of  what  had  hap- 
pened in  the  North  whenever  that  became  imminent. 
She  did  not  even  perceive  where  she  was  going  ;  she 
submitted  to  be  led,  and  even  lost  sight  of  the  familiar 
features  of  the  landscape  surrounding  her  own  home. 

"  I  wonder  if  there  was  ever  a  woman  as  unselfish 
as  you  are,"  he  said,  abruptly  and  morosely.  "  I  know 
that  you  are  pretending  to  be  glad  only  to  make  our 
meeting  pleasant  and  spare  me  the  pain  of  self-accusa- 
tion." 

"  How  can  you  think  such  morbid  things  on  such 
a  beautiful  morning  ?  "  she  asked.  "  Is  it  not  a  pleasure 
to  be  in  the  open  air  ?  Is  it  not  a  pleasure  to  meet  an 
old  friend  ?  And  yet  you  stop  to  pull  it  all  to  pieces, 
and  ask  why  and  what  and  how.  You,  who  have  been 


£32  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

abroad,  are  not  thankful  for  this  bit  of  sunshine,  per- 
haps that  is  the  reason." 

•*  There  is  something  almost  angelic,  if  we  know  any- 
thing about  angels,  in  the  way  you  have  of  forgetting 
yourself  in  order  to  make  people  feel  at  ease." 

"  And  if  you  are  not  cheerful  this  morning,  you  have 
not  forgotten  how  to  pay  compliments,"  she  said,  with 
a  smile. 

Presently  he  said,  with  a  shrug, — 

"  You  must  consider  me  a  very  discontented  fellow, 
I  fancy.  You  see,  I  don't  wish  just  at  present  to  inter- 
rupt our  new  friendliness  by  explaining  why  I  am  not 
cheerful,  why  I  owe  you  more  contrition  than  you  can 
understand,  why  your  kindness  almost  makes  me  sus- 
picious of  your  good  faith.  You  don't  know " 

"  I  know  enough,"  she  said,  with  a  pretty  gesture  of 
impatience.  "  I  wish  not  to  have  any  more,  whys,  and 
whys,  and  whys.  Explanations,  they  never  do  good  be- 
tween friends.  I  am  satisfied  of  it  if  you  come  to  the 
Manse,  and  become  as  you  were  once.  That  is  all ;  that 
is  sufficient.  But  just  now,  when  you  have  the  pleasant 
morning  before  you,  it  is  not  good  to  torment  yourself 
by  doubts  and  suspicions  and  questions." 

"  Ah,  well,"  he  said,  "  I  suppose  I  must  suffer  you 
to  consider  me  discontented  without  cause.  It  will  be 
of  little  consequence  a  hundred  years  hence." 

Coquette  laughed. 

"  Even  in  your  resignation  you  are  gloomy.  Why 
you  say  that  about  a  hundred  years  ?  I  do  not  care 
what  happens  in  a  hundred  years  ;  but  just  now,  while 
we  are  alive,  we  ought  to  make  life  pleasant  to  each 
other,  and  be  as  comfortable  as  we  can." 

So  they  wandered  on,  Coquette  not  paying  particular 
heed  to  the  direction  of  their  walk.  Her  companion 
was  not  very  talkative  ;  but  she  was  grateful  for  the  new 
interest  that  had  been  lent  to  her  life  by  his  arrival  at 
Airlie,  and  was  in  very  good  spirits.  All  her  fears  of 
the  morning  had  vanished.  It  seemed  a  comparatively 
easy  thing  for  her  to  meet  him  ;  there  could  apparently 
be  no  recurrence  of  the  terrible  scene  which  was  now 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETIL  233 

as  a  sort  of  dream  to  her.  Suddenly,  however,  her  com- 
panion paused  ;  and  she,  looking  up,  saw  that  they  were 
now  at  the  corner  of  the  Earlshope  grounds,  where  these 
joined  the  moor.  There  was  a  small  gate  in  the  wall 
fronting  them. 

"  Will  you  come  into  the  grounds  ?  "  he  said,  produc- 
ing a  small  key;  "you  need  not  go  up  to  the  house. 
There  is  a  sort  of  grotto  or  cavern,  which  I  constructed 
when  I  was  a  lad,  at  this  end  of  the  copse.  Will  you  go 
in  and  see  it  ?  " 

Coquette  hesitated  only  for  a  moment,  and  then  she 
said,  "  Yes."  He  opened  the  small  gate ;  they  both 
passed  through ;  and  Coquette  found  herself  at  the  ex- 
tremity of  a  small  path  leading  through  a  strip  of  fir- 
wood. 


CHAPTER    XXXIV. 
LORD  EARLSHOPE'S  CAVE. 

SHE  now  recollected  that  long  ago  the  Whaup  had 
spoken  of  some  mysterious  place  which  Lord  Earlshope 
had  built  within  his  grounds  ;  and  when  her  companion, 
begging  her  to  excuse  him  for  a  few  minutes,  passed  in- 
to what  was  apparently  a  cleft  in  a  solid  mass  of  earth  or 
rock,  and  when  she  heard  the  striking  of  a  match,  she 
concluded  that  he  was  lighting  up  the  small  theatrical 
scene  for  her  benefit.  Nor  was  she  mistaken,  for  pres- 
ently he  came  out  and  asked  her  to  return  with  him 
through  this  narrow  aperture.  He  led  the  way ;  she  fol- 
lowed. If  the  cavern  into  which  they  entered  were 
of  artificial  construction,  considerable  pains  had  been 
taken  to  make  it  look  natural.  At  first  the  cleft  was 
open  above,  and  the  sides  of  the  passage  were  covered 
with  ferns  and  weeds  growing  in  considerable  profusion. 
By  and  by  she  came  in  front  of  a  large  recess,  apparently 
dug  out  of  the  side  of  a  rock,  and  involuntarily  a  cry  of 


234  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HET1L    ' 

wonder  escaped  her.  The  sides  of  this  tolerably  spacious 
cave  were  studded  here  and  there  by  curiously  shaped 
and  pendent  lamps  of  various  colors  ;  and  right  at  the 
back  was  a  Chinese  stove,  on  the  polished  surface  of 
which  the  colored  lights  threw  faint  reflections.  Down 
one  side  of  the  cave  a  stream  trickled,  dropping  over 
bits  of  rock,  and  wetting  the  masses  of  fern  which  grew 
in  their  clefts.  The  space  in  front  of  the  stove  was  per- 
fectly dry;  and  there  stood  two  cane  easy-chairs,  fitted 
with  small  reading-desks  and  candles.  The  whole  place 
looked  a  bit  cut  out  of  a  pantomine  ;  and  Coquette,  sud- 
denly finding  herself  in  this  strange  place,  with  its  dusky 
corners  and  its  colored  lamps,  wholly  forgot  that  outside 
there  reigned  the  brightness  of  a  spring  day. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  my  boyish  notions  of  the 
marvellous  ? "  he  said,  with  a  smile. 

"  It  is  wonderful,"  said  Coquette,  who  fancied  she 
had  been  transferred  to  a  fairy  palace. 

"There  are  incongruities  in  it,"  said  he,  "for  I 
changed  my  hobbies  then  as  rapidly  as  now.  It  was 
begun  in  imitation  of  a  cavern  I  had  read  of  in  a  novel ; 
it  was  continued  as  a  mandarin's  palace,  and  finally 
finished  up  in  imitation  of  the  Arabian  Nights.  But  you 
can  imagine  it  to  be  what  you  like,  once  you  have  taken 
off  your  boots,  which  must  be  damp,  and  put  on  that 
pair  of  Russian  slippers  which  you  will  find  in  front  of 
the  stove.  I  shall  leave  you  to  complete  your  toilette, 
while  I  go  up  to  the  house  for  some  biscuits  and  wine." 

With  which  he  left,  before  Coquette  could  utter  a 
word  of  protest.  She  now  found  herself  alone  in  this 
extraordinary  place.  Had  he  brought  her  there  inten- 
tionally ?  vShe  had  looked  at  the  slippers — they  were 
lady's  slippers,and  new.  He  had  evidently,  then,  antici- 
pated that  he  would  meet  her,  walk,  with  her,  and  bring 
her  thither.  She  knew  not  what  to  do.  Yet  the  slip- 
pers were  very  pretty — curiously  wrought  with  colored 
beads,  and  deeply  furred  all  around.  They  were  seduc- 
tively warm,  too,  from  having  been  lying  before  the 
stove.  So,  with  a  certain  defiant  air,  she  sat  down, 
pulled  off  her  tiny  boots,  and  placed  them  before  the 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH.  235 

stove  ;  and  presently  her  small  feet  were  encased  in  the 
warm  and  furred  slippers,  which  had  apparently  been  left 
for  her  by  the  genii  of  the  cave. 

Then  she  sat  down  in  one  of  the  easy-chairs,  pulled 
off  her  gloves,  and  put  out  just  so  much  of  the  slippers 
lhat  she  could  admire  their  rose-colored  tips.  All  this 
conduct  on  her  part  she  knew  to  be  dreadfully  and  des- 
perately wrong;  but  she  was  very  comfortable,  and  the 
place  was  very  pretty.  As  for  the  slippers,  they  were 
simply  not  to  be  refused.  Indeed,  the  whole  thing 
hovered  in  her  mind  as  half  a  dream  and  half  a  joke  ; 
and  wben,  at  length,  Lord  Earlshope  appeared  with  his 
stock  of  provisions,  the  whole  adventure  looked  remark- 
ably like  one  of  those  playing-at-houses  games  familiar 
to  children.  -As  for  any  apprehension  of  her  indiscreet 
behavior  being  a  subject  of  after  annoyance,  she  felt 
none  whatever.  Had  not  Lord  Earlshope  and  herself 
quite  got  back  to  their  old  friendly  terms  ;  and  what  harm 
was  there  ir,  her  joining  in  this  piece  of  amusement  ?  If 
she  had  any  doubts  or  misgivings,  they  were  swallowed 
up  in  the  sensation  of  comfort  lent  by  the  Russian 
slippers. 

Coquette  ate  one  or  two  of  the  small  biscuits,  and 
drank  half  a  glass  of  the  yellow-white  wine  which  Lord 
Earlshope  poured  out  for  her.  Then  she  said, — 

"  I  do  not  know  how  you  can  go  away  from  this 
place.  I  should  live  here  always.  Why  did  you  go 
away  ? " 

"  I  am  going  away  again,"  he  said.  She  looked  up 
with  some  surprise,  perhaps  with  a  shadow  of  disappoint- 
ment, too,  on  her  face. 

"  How  can  I  stay  here  ?  "  he  said,  suddenly.  "  I 
should  be  meeting  you  constantly.  I  have  no  right  to 
meet  you.  I  am  satisfied,  now  that  I  know  you  are  well, 
and  that  you  have  forgiven  me ;  and  I  do  not  wish  to  re- 
peat a  bygone  error.  You,  who  are  always  so  pleased  with 
everything,  around  you,  I  see  you  have  forgotten  that 
witchery  that  seemed  to  have  fallen  over  us  both  last 
summer.  You  are  again  yourself,  calm,  satisfied  with  you* 
self,  on  excellent  terms  with  everybody  and  everything. 


23 G  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETff. 

But  I  have  not  been  cured  by  my  few  months'  absence. 

Now  that  I  see  you  again, Bah  !  what  is  the  use 

of  annoying  you  by  such  talk  ?  Tell  me,  how  is  your 
cousin  in  Glasgow  ?" 

Coquette  remained  quite  silent  and  thoughtful,  how- 
ever, with  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  stove  before  her.  After 
a  little  while  she  said, — 

"  I  have  not  forgotten  ;  I  will  never  forget.  I  have 
been  so  pleased  to  see  you  this  morning  that  perhaps  I 
have  appeared  light,  fickle,  what  you  call  it  ?  in  your  eyes, 
and  not  mindful  of  your  trouble.  It  is  not  so.  I  do  re- 
member all  that  happened  ;  it  is  only  I  think  better  not 
to  bring  it  back.  Why  you  should  go  away  ?  If  you  re- 
main, we  shall  learn  to  meet  as  friends,  as  we  are  now,  are 
we  not  ? " 

"  Do  you  think  that  is  possible  ? "  he  asked  gravely 
looking  at  her. 

Coquette  dropped  her  eyes  ;  and  said  in  a  low  voice, — 

"  It  may  be  difficult  just  a  little  while ;  yet  it  is  possi- 
ble. And  it  seems  hard  that  if  we  do  enjoy  the  meeting 
with  each  other,  we  must  not  meet,  that  I  drive  you  away 
from  your  own  home." 

"  It  is  odd,  is  it  not  ?"  he  said,  in  rather  an  absent 
way.  "  You  have  made  me  an  exile,  or  rather,  my  own 
folly  has  done  that  No,  Coquette  ;  I  am  afraid  there  is 
no  compromise  possible,  for  me,  at  least,  until  after  a  few 
years,  and  then  I  may  come  back  to  talk  to  you  in  quite 
an  offhand  fashion,  and  treat  you  as  if  you  were  my  own 
sister.  For  I  am  a  good  deal  older  than  you,  you 
know f ' 

At  this  moment  there  was  a  sound  of  footsteps  out- 
side ;  and  Coquette  hurriedly  sprang  to  her  feet.  Lord 
Earlshope  immediately  went  out  to  the  entrance  of  the 
place  ;  and  Coquette  heard  some  one  approach  from  the 
outside.  She  hastily  abandoned  her  small  furred  slippers, 
and  drew  on  her  damp  boots ;  then  she  stood,  with  a 
beating  heart,  listening. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  have  alarmed  you,"  said  Lord  Earis- 
hope,  returning.  "It  was  only  a  servant  with  seme  letters 
which  have  arrived." 


A  DAVG *ITER  OF  HE TH.  237 

But  the  sound  of  those  footsteps  had  suddenly  awak- 
ened Coquette  to  a  sense  of  the  imprudence,  and  even 
danger,  of  her  present  position,  and  she  declined  to  re- 
sume her  comfortable  seat  before  the  fire. 

"  I  must  go/'  she  said. 

"  Let  me  show  you  the  way,"  said  he ;  and  so  he  led 
her  out  the  winding  path,  and  through  the  shrubbery  to 
the  small  gate  that  opened  out  on  the  moor.  She  had 
reached  the  limit  of  Earlshope ;  in  front  of  her  stretched 
the  undulating  plain  leading  up  to  Airlie  ;  she  was  free  to 
go  when  she  pleased. 

"  I  must  not  see  you  home,"  he  said,  "  or  the  good 
people  who  may  have  noticed  us  an  hour  ago  would  have 
a  story  to  tell." 

"  I  shall  find  my  way  without  trouble/'said  Coquette, 
and  she  held  out  her  hand. 

"  Is  it  to  be  good-bye,  then  ? "  he  said,  looking  sadly 
at  her. 

"  Not  unless  you  please/'  said  Coquette,  simply,  al- 
though she  bent  her  eyes  on  the  ground.  "  I  should 
like  you  to  remain  here,  and  be  friends  with  us  as  in 
long  ago  ;  it  is  not  much  to  ask  ;  it  would  be  a  pleasure 
to  me,  and  I  should  be  sorry  and  angry  with  myself  if  I 
thought  you  had  again  gone  away  because  of  me.  It  is 
surely  no  reason  you  should  go  ;  for  I  should  think  of 
you  far  away,  and  think  that  I  ought  to  go  away,  not 
you,  for  I  am  a  stranger  come  to  Airlie,  and  sometimes 
I  think  I  have  come  only  to  do  harm  to  all  my  friends " 

"  My  darling  !  "  he  said,  with  a  strange  and  sad  look 
on  his  face,  as  he  caught  her  to  him  and  looked  down 
into  the  clear,  frightened  eyes,  "  you  shall  not  accuse 
yourself  like  this.  If  there  is  blame  in  my  staying,  I 
will  bear  it,  I  will  stay,  whatever  happens,  and  we  shall 
meet,  Coquette,  shall  we  not,  even  as  now,  in  this  still- 
ness, with  no  one  to  interrupt  our  talk  ?  Why  do  you 
look  frightened.  Coquette  ?  Are  you  afraid  of  me  ?  See, 
you  are  free  to  go  !  " 

And  his  arms  released  their  hold,  and  she  stood, 
with  downcast  eyes,  alone  and  trembling.  But  she  did 
not  move.  And  so,  once  again,  he  drew  her  towards 


238  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

him,  and,  ere  she  knew,  his  arms  were  around  her,  and 
she  was  close  against  his  bosom,  and  kisses  were  being 
showered  on  her  forehead  and  on  her  lips.  It  was  all 
so  sudden,  so  wild  and  strange,  that  she  did  not  stir, 
nor  was  she  but  half  conscious  of  the  fetters  of  tron 
which  these  few  moments  were  fastening  down  on  her 
life.  It  was  very  terrible,  this  crisis  ;  but  she  vaguely 
felt  that  there  was  the  sweetness  of  despair  and  utter 
abandonment  possessing  her ;  that  the  die  had  been 
cast  for  good  or  evil,  and  the  old  days  of  doubt  and  an- 
xiety were  over. 

"  Let  me  go — let  me  go ! ''  she  pleaded  piteously. 
"  C-%  what  have  we  done  ?  " 

;  We  have  sealed  our  fate,"  said  he,  with  a  wild  look 
in  his  eyes,  which  she  did  not  see.  "  I  have  fought 
against  this  for  many  a  day,  how  bitterly  and  anxiously 
no  one  knows,  Coquette.  But  now,  Coquette  but  now  ; 
won't  you  look  up  and  let  me  see  that  love  is  written  i.i 
your  eyes  ?  Wonrt  you  look  up,  and  give  me  one  kiss 
before  we  part  ?  only  one,  Coquette?  " 

But  her  downcast  face  was  pale  and  deathlike,  and 
for  a  moment  or  two  she  seemed  to  tremble.  Finally 
she  said, — 

"I  cannot  speak  to  you  now  To-morrow  or  next 
day,  perhaps  we  shall  meet.  Adieu  /  you  must  leave 
me  to  go  alone." 

And  so  she  went  away  over  the  moor ;  and  he  stood 
looking  after  her  for  some  time,  with  eyes  that  had  now 
lost  all  their  wild  joy  and  triumph,  and  were  wistful 
and  sad. 

"  She  does  not  know  what  has  happened  to  her  to- 
day," he  said  to  himself,  "  and  I,  I  have  foreseen  it,  and 
Rtriven  to  guard  against  it,  to  no  purpose." 


A  DA  UGHTER  OF  HE  TH.  239 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

THE  NEMESIS  OF    LOVE. 

"  AT  last,  at  last,  at  last !  "  the  words  rung  in  her 
ears  as  she  hurried  across  the  moor,  seeing  nothing, 
heeding  nothing,  her  face  turned  away  from  the  clear 
blue-white  of  the  spring  sky.  She  was  only  anxious  to 
get  within  the  shelter  of  her  own  home,  to  resolve  those 
wild  doubts  and  fears  which  were  pressing  upon  her. 
In  many  and  many  a  story  of  her  youth,  in  many  a 
ballad  and  song  she  had  sung  long  ago  in  the  garden 
overlooking  the  Loire,  she  had  heard  tell  of  happy  lovers 
and  their  joy  ;  and,  with  the  light  fancies  of  a  girl,  she 
had  looked  forward  to  the  time  when  she,  too,  might 
awake  to  find  her  life  crowned  by  those  sweet  experi- 
ences that  fall  to  the  lot  of  young  men  and  maidens. 
Was  this  love  that  had  come  to  her  at  last,  not  in  the 
guise  of  an  angel,  with  a  halo  over  his  head  and  mildness 
in  his  face,  but  in  the  guise  of  a  sorcerer,  who  had  the 
power  to  turn  the  very  sunlight  into  blackness  ? 

Yet,  when  she  had  reached  the  solitude  of  her  own 
chamber,  she  asked  herself  the  reason  of  this  sudden 
fear.  What  made  her  heart  beat  and  her  cheek  grow 
pale  as  she  looked  back  to  that  wild  evening  in  Loch 
Scavaig  ?  Was  not  that  all  over  and  gone,  forgotten 
and  buried  in  the  past  ?  Indeed,  she  began  to  reason 
with  herself  over  the  injustice  of  recalling  it.  Had  not 
Lord  Earlshope  sufficiently  endeavored  to  atone  for — 
what  ? 

That  was  the  mystery  which  was  pressing  upon  her 
with  a  terrible  pertinacity.  She  had  been  oppressed 
with  an  unnamable  dread  during  that  memorable  even- 
ing ;  but  what  had  Lord  Earlshope  done,  beyond  talk- 
ing wildly  and  almost  fiercely  for  a  few  minutes  ?  She 
had  almost  forgotten  the  substance  of  what  he  had  then 


240 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HE  TIL 


said.  And  now  that  he  had  expressed  his  penitence  for 
that,  since  he  had  even  punished  himself  with  six  months' 
exile  on  account  of  it,  why  should  the  memory  of  it  in- 
terfere between  them  as  a  gloomy  phantom,  voiceless, 
but  yet  holding  up  a  warning  ringer  ? 

"  I  do  not  understand  it,"  she  murmured  to  herself  in 
French.  "  There  is  something  he  will  not  tell  me  ;  and 
yet  why  should  he  be  afraid  ?  Does  he  fear  that  I  shall 
be  unjust  or  merciless,  to  him  who  has  never  a  hard 
word  or  a  suspicion  for  any  one  ?  Why  should  he  not 
tell  me  ?  it  cannot  be  anything  wrong  of  himself,  or  I 
should  see  it  in  his  eyes.  And  whatever  it  is,  it  separates 
us,  and  I  have  given  my  life  to  a  man  who  seems  to 
stand  on  the  other  side  of  a  river  from  me,  and  I  can 
only  hold  out  my  hands  to  him,  and  wish  that  the  river 
were  the  river  of  death,  so  that  I  could  cross  over,  and 
fall  at  his  feet  and  kiss  them." 

She  took  out  a  little  book  of  devotions  which  had 
been  given  her  by  some  companions  on  leaving. France, 
and  sat  down  at  the  small  window-table,  and  placed  it 
before  her.  A  few  moments  thereafter,  Lady  Drum, 
coming  into  the  room,  found  the  girl's  head  resting  on 
the  table,  covered  by  her  hands. 

"  Asleep  in  the  middle  o'  the  day !  "  said  the  visitor, 
who  had  unceremoniously  come  upstairs. 

Coquette  hastily  rose,  and  would  have  hidden  her 
face  by  turning  aside  and  going  into  her  bedroom,  but 
that  Lady  Drum  stopped  her,  and  took  her  by  both 
hands. 

"  What !  No  rosier  than  that  ?  And  fast  asleep  in 
the  middle  o'  such  a  day !  Dear  me,  lassie ! "  she 
added,  looking  more  narrowly  at  her,  fct  what  are  your 
eyes  so  big  and  wild  and  wet  for  ?  " 

Lady  Drum  walked  to  the  table,  and  took  up  the 
small  book.  She  turned  over  its  pages,  and  the  con- 
tempt visible  on  her  face  grew  fast  and  fierce. 

"  Saints,  crosses,  mealy-faced  women  wi'  circles 
around  their  heads,  men  in  blue  gowns  wi'  a  lamb  by 
them,  is  this  the  trash  ye  spend  your  days  ovver,  when 
ye  should  be  in  the  open  air  ? " 


A  DA  UGHTER  OF  HE  TtT.  241 

Lady  Drum  clasped  the  book  again,  put  it  in  the 
drawer  of  the  table,  and  shut  the  drawer  with  somewhat 
unnecessary  vehemence. 

"  Phew !  I  have  no  patience  wi1  the  folk  that  would 
make  every  young  lassie  a  nun.  Come  here,  my  young 
princess  wi'  the  pale  face  ;  are  ye  no  a  stanch,  earnest, 
indomitable  Presbyterian  ?  " 

"  I  am  what  you  please,"  said  Coquette,  timidly. 

"  Are  you  or  are  you  not,  a  Presbyterian  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  I  am,"  said  Coquette.  "  I  do  not  know 
what  it  is,  this  Presby — I  do  not  know  what  you  say. 
But  I  do  keep  my  books  that  belonged  to  me  in  France. 
That  is  a  good  book  ;  it  can  do  no  harm  to  any  one " 

"  My  certes  !  here  is  a  pretty  convert !  It  can  do 
no  harm  to  ony  one  ?  and  I  find  ye  in  the  middle  o' 
the  day  greetin'  ower  its  palaverins,  and  with  a  face  that 
would  suit  a  saint  better  than  a  brisk  young  creature  o' 
your  age.  Ayrshire  is  no  the  place  for  saints,  the  air  is 
ower  healthy.  Come  here,  and  I  will  show  ye  the  book 
that  ye  must  read/' 

She  led  Coquette  to  the  window,  and  began  to  ex- 
patiate on  the  enjoyments  of  being  out  walking  on  such 
a  day,  with  the  spring  winds  stirring  the  young  corn, 
rnd  ruffling  the  distant  blue  of  the  sea.  Alas!  all  that 
Coquette  saw  was  the  beginning  of  the  line  of  trees 
that  led  down  to  Earlshope. 

"  Listen  now,"  said  Lady  Drum,  "  I  have  come 
here  on  an  errand.  Ye  have  never  seen  Glasgow.  I 
am  going  up  to-morrow  morning  ;  can  you  come  wi' 
me,  stay  two  or  three  weeks,  and  cheer  your  cousin's 
exile  a  bit  ? " 

Coquette's  conscience  smote  her  hard  ;  and  it  was 
with  a  quick  feeling  of  pain  and  remorse  that  she  thought 
of  the  Whaup.  She  had  almost  forgotten  him.  Far 
away  in  the  great  city  of  which  she  knew  so  little  he 
was  working  hard,  buoyed  up  by  some  foolish  and  fond 
notion  that  he  was  pleasing  her.  All  at  once  her  heart 
turned  towards  him  with  a  great  affection  and  yearning. 
She  would  make  amends  for  the  wrong  which  he  had 
unwittingly  suffered.  She  would  go  at  once  to  Glas- 


2 42  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETTF. 

gow ;  and  would  shower  upon  him  every  token  of 
solicitude  and  kindness  that  she  could  devise. 

"  Oh,  yes,  Lady  Drum !  "  she  said,  with  evident 
eagerness  in  her  face.  "  I  will  go  with  you  as  soon  as 
you  please.  Have  you  seen  my  cousin  ?  Is  he  well  ? 
Is  he  tired  of  his  hard  work  ?  Does  he  speak  of  us 
sometimes  ?  He  does  not  think  we  have  forgotten 
him  ? " 

"  Hoity  toity  !  Twenty  questions  in  a  breath  !  Let 
me  tell  you  this,  my  young  lady,  that  your  cousin, 
though  he  says  nothing,  is  doing  wonders  ;  and  that 
Dr.  Menzies,  to  whom  the  Minister  confided  him,  is 
fair  delighted  wi'  him,  and  has  him  at  denner  or  supper 
twice  of  thiice  a  week  ;  and  your  cousin  is  just  petted 
extraordinary  by  the  young  leddies  o'  the  house,  and 
bonnier  lassies  there  are  none  in  Glasgow." 

Coquette  clasped  her  hands. 

"  Perhaps  he  will  marry  one  of  them,"  she  cried,  with 
a  wonderful  gladness  in  her  eyes. 

Lady  Drum  looked  at  her. 

"Marry  one  o'  them?  Would  ye  like  to  see  him 
marry  one  o'  them  ?  Has  that  daft  picture-book  turned 
your  head  and  made  ye  determined  to  gang  into  a  nun- 
nery ?  " 

"  It  is  not  necessary  he  marries  me,"  said  Coquette, 
in  a  tone  of  protest.  "  A  young  man  must  choose  his 
own  wife — it  is  not  pleasant  for  him  to  be  made  to  marry 
by  his  friends." 

"  Ah,  well !  "  said  Lady  Drum,  with  a  sigh.  "Young 
folks,  are  young  folks,  and  they  will  pretend  that  the 
marmalade  they  would  like  to  steal  is  nothing  but  down- 
right medicine  to  them.  Ye  had  better  begin  to  think 
about  packing  up  for  to-morrow  morning." 

"  To-morrow  morning  !  "  said  Coquette,  with  a  sudden 
tremor  of  apprehension. 

."  Yes."  ' 

"  Oh,  I  cannot  go  to-morrow — I  cannot  go  to-morrow  : 
will  not  the  next  day  do,  Lady  Drum  ?  May  I  not  have 
one  day  more  ?  " 

Astonished  beyond  measure  by  the  sudden  alteration 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH.  243 

in  the  girl's  manner,  from  delight  at  the  prospect  of  go- 
ing, to  an  almost  agonizing  entreaty  to  be  left  alone  for 
another  day,  Lady  Drum  did  not  reply  for  a  minute  or 
two,  but  regarded  her  companion,  who  bent  her  eyes  on 
the  ground. 

"  What  have  you  to  do  to-morrow  ?  "  said  the  elderly 
lady,  at  last. 

"  It  is  nothing — it  is  not  much,"  stammered  Coquette. 
"  Only  I  do  wish  to  remain  at  Airlie  to-morrow.  It  is 
only  one  day  longer,  Lady  Drum." 

"  Why,  you  plead  as  if  I  were  to  tak'  ye  out  for  exe- 
cution the  day  after.  If  it  will  serve  ye,  I  will  wait  for 
another  day,  and  on  Friday  morning,  at  ten  minutes  to 
ten,  ye  must  be  at  the  station,  wi'  a'  your  trunks  and 
things  in  good  order." 

"  But  I  have  not  asked  my  uncle  yet,"  said  Coquette. 

"  I  have,  though,''  said  Lady  Drum,  "  and  I'm  think- 
ing he'll  no  miss  ye  except  at  the  breakfast.  Since  he 
began  to  get  up  that  Concordance  o'  the  Psalms,  he 
seems  to  have  withdrawn  himself  from  the  world  lound 
about  him,  as  it  were,  dead  to  his  friends." 

"  It  is  very  kind  of  you  to  ask  me  to  go  with  you," 
said  Coquette,  suddenly  remembering  that  she  had  not 
thanked  Lady  Drum  for  her  offer. 

"  No,  no."  said  her  elderly  friend  ;  "  what  would  a 
big  house  be  without  a  young  leddy  in  it  to  bring  visitors 
about  ?  And  this  time,  I  must  tell  ye,  a  friend  o'  Sir 
Peter's  has  given  us  the  loan  o'  his  house  until  he  comes 
back  from  Rome  ;  and  it  is  a  big  house  overlooking  the 
West-End  Park  ;  and  I'm  thinking  we'll  find  it  more 
comfortable  than  a  hotel.  And  we  will  have  some  com- 
pany ;  and  it  will  no  be  amiss  if  ye  bring  wi'  ye  such 
French  ornaments  or  dresses  as  might  be  rather  out  o' 
place  in  the  Manse  o'  Airlie.  And  I'm  sure  ye  will  be 
quite  surprised  to  see  your  cousin — how  he  looks  now 
just  like  a  fine,  stalwart  gentleman,  instead  o'  a  long- 
legged  laddie  ;  and  it  is  just  possible  Lord  Ea-lshope 
may  pay  us  a  visit  some  evening." 

Did  Lady  Drum  throw  out  this  hint  as  a  vague  feeler  ? 


244 


A   DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 


She  had  never  penetrated  the  mystery  which  had  sur- 
rounded the  relations  between  Coquette  and  Lord  Earls- 
hope  during  their  voyage  in  the  Highlands.  She  had, 
indeed,  destroyed  the  scrap  of  writing  handed  to  her  by 
Coquette  when  the  girl  was  delirious,  unwilling  to  bother 
herself  with  a  secret  which  did  not  concern  her.  Still 
Lady  Drum  was  just  a  trifle  curious.  There  was  some- 
thing very  peculiar  and  interesting  in  the  odd  notions 
which  the  young  French  girl  seemed  to  have  acquired 
about  love  and  marriage.  Lady  Drum  had  never  met 
with  any  one  who  held  but  the  ordinary  and  accepted 
theories  on  that  attractive  subject.  Yet  here  was  a  young 
lady  who  calmly  contemplated  the  possibility  of  loving 
some  one  whom  circumstances  might  prevent  her  marry- 
ing ;  and  seemed  in  nowise  disinclined  to  marry  any  one 
whom  her  friends  recommended,  and  wished  to  make 
her  husband.  Were  these  French  notions  of  the  duty 
of  daughters  to  their  parents  ?  Or  had  they  been  picked 
up  in  idle  speculation,  and  not  yet  driven  away,  as  Lady 
Drum  felt  certain  they  would  be  driven  away,  by  a  real 
love  affair.  At  all  events,  the  mention  of  Lord  Earls- 
hope's  name  at  once  arrested  Coquette's  attention. 

"  Does  Lord  Earlshope  ever  go  to  Glasgow  ?  "  she 
asked,  suddenly. 

"  What  for  no  ?  " 

"And  is  he  likely  to  meet  my  cousin  at  your  house  ?  " 

"  Assuredly.     Why  not  ?     Why  not  ?  " 

"  I  did  ask  merely  to  know,"  said  Coquette,  with 
thoughtful  eyes. 

Then  Lady  Drum  bade  her  come  downstairs  and  get 
her  a  biscuit  and  a  glass  of  wine.  The  Minister  was 
brought  out  of  his  study,  and  they  had  a  little  talk  over 
Coquette's  projected  trip.  At  length  Lady  Drum  sent 
to  see  if  her  coachman  had  refreshed  his  horses ,  and, 
finally,  with  a  pleasant  "ati  revaur,  ma  fee  /  au  revattr  ! 
ati  revaur  a  bonnair !"  the  old  lady  walked  in  her  grand 
and  stately  fashion  across  the  small  garden,  got  into  her 
carriage,  and  was  driven  away  from  Airlie  Manse. 

There  remained  to  Coquette  but  one  day  on  which 


A  DALGHTER  OF  HETfL  245 

she  had  the  chance  of  seeing  Lord  Earlshope,  and  how 
was  she  to  bring  about  a  meeting  which  she  had  feared, 
yet  could  not  wholly  forego  ? 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

THE  LAST  DAY   AT  AIRLIE. 

ALL  during  that  evening,  and  in  thinking  of  the  next 
morning,  she  nursed  a  sweet  and  strange  poison  at  her 
heart.  Love  seemed  no  longer  to  be  so  terrible  as  on 
that  weird  evening  in  the  Highlands  ;  and  she  grew  ac- 
customed to  the  danger,  and  glad  that,  come  what  might, 
this  flower  of  life  had  at  length  fallen  upon  her  and  she 
knew  its  fragrance.  Had  she  not  been  told,  in  many  of 
those  old  stories,  that  love  for  love's  sake  was  enough  ? 
She  did  not  care  to  count  its  cost.  She  scarcely  paid 
any  heed  as  to  how  it  might  end.  Sufficient  to  know 
that  now,  at  this  moment,  her  heart  was  beating  wildly 
against  its  prison-bars,  and  would  fain  have  taken  wings 
and  flown  over  the  moor  towards  Earlshope,  if  only  to 
die  on  finding  a  haven. 

Nor  was  there  much  disquiet  in  her  look  the  next 
morning  when  she  rose  and  found  that  another  bright 
and  clear  day  had  come  to  mark  her  farewell  to  Airlie. 
She  was  hurried  and  excited,  perhaps,  in  preparing  to  go 
out,  but  she  was  joyful,  too  ;  and  the  early  morning  sun- 
shine, streaming  in  through  the  small  window,  found  her 
eyes  full  of  gladness  and  hope. 

Yet  how  was  she  to  communicate  with  Lord  Earls- 
hope, and  let  him  know  that  she  wished  to  say  good-bye 
to  him  ?  Clearly  neither  her  uncle  nor  Lady  Drum 
knew  that  he  was  at  Earlshope.  She  dared  not  send 
him  a  message  ;  and  equally  impossible  was  it  for  her  to 
go  up  alone  to  the  house.  Her  hope  was  that  he  would 
be  on  the  look-out  for  her  ;  and  that  another  stolen  in 


246  *  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

terview  would  mark  the  last  day  she  had  for  the  present 
to  spend  at  Airlie. 

She  was  not  mistaken  in  that  vague  surmise.  When 
she  went  out  for  her  accustomed  forenoon  stroll,  she  had 
wandered  but  a  little  way  when  she  found  him  approach- 
ing  her.  His  look  was  anxious  ;  but  hers  was  full  of 
affection  and  trust. 

"You  are  no  longer  alarmed  to  see  me  ?  "  he  asked, 
with  an  expression  of  glad  surprise. 

"  No."  she  said.  "  Why  should  I  ?  Perhaps  I  ought 
not  to  meet  you  in  this  way  ;  but  it  will  not  be  for  long. 
And  you — you  seemed  to  have  dropped  from  the  clouds." 

"  I  was  on  my  way  to  the  Manse." 

"  To  the  Manse !  "  she  repeated,  in  some  dismay. 

"  Yes.  Do  you  know  any  reason  why  I  should  not 
call  upon  your  uncle  ?  I  dared  not  go  near  the  place 
until  I  had  assured  myself  I  should  not  be  annoying  you. 
And  now  I  hope  to  be  able  to  call  and  see  you  there,  in- 
stead of  inveigling  you  into  these  surreptitious  meetings, 
even  although  they  have  the  charm  of  secrecy,  and  of 
Russian  slippers." 

He  had  caught  some  faint  reflex  of  cheerfulness 
from  the  gladness  of  her  face  ;  but  there  was  still  about 
him  a  look  of  constraint  and  anxiety. 

"  It  is  too  late  to  think  of  that,"  she  said  ;  "  I  go  to 
Glasgow  to-morrow." 

"  Have  they  found  out  ?  Are  they  sending  you 
away  ?  "  he  asked,  hurriedly. 

"  No  ;  there  is  nothing  to  find  out.  But  Lady  Drum, 
she  is  good  enough  to  ask  me  to  go  with  her ;  and  there 
I  will  see  my  cousin,  whom  I  have  promised  to  visit 
often,  yet  have  never  been  able.  And  I  am  sorry  for 
him,  alone  in  that  great  place,  and  the  people  here 
nearly  forgetting  him.  Does  he  not  deserve  some  rep- 
aration, some  kindness  from  me  ?  " 

She  looked  up  into  his  face  ;  and  he  knew  that  she 
meant  more  than  appeared  in  her  words. 

"  I  wonder,"  said  Lord  Earlshope,  after  a  little  while, 
41  if  he  does  hope  to  win  your  love  ;  if  he  is  working 
there  with  the  far-off  intention  of  coming  back  here  and 


A  DA  UC1ITER  OF  HE  7Y/.  2  4  7 

asking  you  to  be  his  wife.  If  that  is  so,  we  have  acted 
very  cruelly  by  him." 

"  Ah,  not  cruelly  !"  she  said,  as  if  begging  him  to 
reassure  her.  "If  we  have  forgotten  him,  can  I  not 
make  it  up  to  him  ?  You  will  sec,  when  I  go  to  Glas- 
gow, I  will  be  very  kind  to  him,  he  will  not  think  that 
he  has  been  ill-used." 

"  But  he  will  think  that  you  are  still  looking  favorably 
on  his  vague  hopes,  he  will  be  all  the  more  assured  that, 
some  day  or  other,  you  will  become  his  wife." 

"  And  if  that  will  make  him  happy,"  she  said,  slowly 
and  with  wistful  eyes,  "  there  is  nothing  I  will  not  do 
to  make  him  happy." 

Lord  Earlshope  regarded  her  with  a  strange  look. 

"  You  would  become  his  wife  ?  " 

"If  that  would  make  him  happy,  yes.  He  deserves 
so  much  from  me,  I  will  do  that,  if  he  demands  it." 

"  You  will  marry  him,  and  make  him  fancy  that  you 
love  him  ? '' 

"No,"  she  said,  simply.  "I  should  tell  him  every- 
thing. I  should  tell  him  that  he  deserves  to  marry  a; 
woman  who  has  never  loved  any  one  but  himself ;  and 
yet  that  I,  if  his  marrying  me  will  alone  make  him  happy, 
I  will  do  what  I  can,  and  be  his  wife." 

"  So  the  world  goes,"  said  her  companion,  with  a 
strange  bitterness  in  his  tone  ;  "  and  it  is  the  good  and 
the  true  and  the  noble  that  suffer.  You  arc  far  too  un- 
selfish to  lead  a  happy  life,  Coquette.  You  will  sacrifice 
yourself,  sooner  or  later,  for  the  sake  of  some  one  you 
love ;  and  the  reward  you  will  get  will  be  reprobation 
and  the  outcry  of  the  crowd.  And  I — I  have  so  far 
paved  the  way  for  all  this  that  if  I  could  free  you  at 
this  moment  by  laying  down  my  own  life,  you  would 
find  it  no  vain  boast  when  I  say  now  that  I  would  do 
it  willingly." 

"  But  you  have  not  made  me  suffer,"  she  said,  gently 
"  Look  now  and  see  whether  I  am  sad  or  miserable,  I 
have  been  so  happy  all  this  morning,  merely  to  think  I 
should  see  you,  that  is  enough  ;  and  now  you  are  here  I 
am  content.  I  wish  no  more  in  the  world." 


248  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

"  But,  Coquette,  don't  you  see  ?  it  cannot  end  here," 
he  said,  almost  desperately.  "  You  do  not  know  the 
chains  in  which  I  am  bound.  I — I  dare  not  tell  you, 
and  yet,  before  you  go  to  Glasgow " 

"  No,"  she  said,  in  the  same  gentle  voice.  "  I  do 
not  wish  to  know.  It  is  enough  for  me  to  be  beside 
you  as  now,  whatever  is  in  store  for  us.  And  if  it 
should  all  be  bad  and  sorrowful,  I  shall  remember  that 
once  I  was  satisfied  ;  that  once  I  walked  with  you  here 
one  morning,  and  we  had  no  thought  of  ill,  and  we  were 
for  a  little  while  happy." 

"  But  I  cannot  stop  there,"  said  he.  "  I  must  look 
at  the  future.  Oh,  my  poor  girl,  I  think  it  would  have 
been  better  for  us  both  had  we  never  been  born  ! " 

She  drew  back  from  him  amazed  and  alarmed.  All 
the  grave  kindliness  of  his  face  had  gone,  and  he  was 
regarding  her  with  a  look  so  full  of  pity  and  of  love 
that  her  heart  grew  still  with  a  great  fear.  Why  was  it 
that,  at  the  very  moment  when  they  were  most  peaceful 
and  happy,  when  she  merely  wished  to  enjoy  the  satis- 
faction of  being  near  him,  leaving  the  future  to  take 
care  of  itself,  this  unnamable  something  came  in  between 
them,  and  bade  her  begone  from  a  man  who  had  some- 
thing to  say  which  he  dared  not  tell  her  ?  Yet  that 
hesitation  of  hers  lasted  but  a  moment.  After  all,  she 
thought,  what  was  her  happiness  in  comparison  with 
that  of  the  man  she  loved  ?  She  saw  the  pain  and  the 
despair  written  on  his  face,  and  she  drew  nearer  to  him 
again,  and  took  his  hand  in  hers." 

"  I  shall  never  wish  that  I  had  not  been  born,"  she 
said,  "for  I  have  known  you  a  little  while,  and  I  have 
walked  with  you  here.  The  rest  is  nothing.  What  can 
harm  us,  if  we  are  true  to  ourselves,  and  do  what  we 
think  is  right  ? " 

"  That  is  possible  to  you,  who  are  as  clear-souled  as 
an  angel,"  he  said. 

Now  what  could  ail  two  lovers  who  were  walking 
thus  in  the  happy  springtime,  alone  together,  with  youth 
in  their  eyes,  and  all  the  world  before  them  ?  Was  it 
not  enough  fcr  them  to  be?  All  things  around  them 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH.  249 

were  peaceful  in  the  clear  sunlight;  the  fields  lay  still 
and  warm  in  their  coating  of  young  green;  the  birds 
were  busy  in  the  leaves  of  the  hedges,  and  there  was 
many  a  jubilant  note  in  the  woods.  Far  away  in  the 
south  there  lay  a  faint  blue  smoke  over  the  houses  of 
Ayr,  but  no  murmur  of  toil  and  struggle  reached  them 
up  on  those  moorland  heights.  The  moor  itself  and 
the  fields  and  the  valleys  were  as  still  as  the  sea,  which 
shone  in  the  sunlight  a  pale  blue  until  it  was  lost  in  the 
white  of  the  horizon.  They  only  seemed  out  of  conso- 
nance with  the  peace  of  this  mild  and  clear  spring  day, 
in  which  the  world  lay  and  basked. 

They  strolled  on  together,  Coquette  sometimes  pick- 
ing up  a  flower,  until  they  had  got  down  to  that  corner 
of  Earlshope  grounds  where  the  small  gate  was.  They 
had  gone  thither  untentionally. 

"  Shall  we  go  in  ? "  said  her  companion. 

"  No,"  said  Coquette.  "  It  is  too  beautiful  outside 
to-day.  Why  cannot  we  go  out  yonder  on  the  sea,  and 
sail  along  the  coast  of  Arran,  and  on  and  up  Locktyne, 
where  the  still  blue  lake  is  ?  I  do  remember  it  was  so 
pleasant  there,  but  afterwards " 

A  cloud  fell  over  her  face,  and  Lord  Earlshope  has- 
tened to  change  the  subject.  He  spoke  of  her  going  to 
Glasgow  ;  of  the  chances  of  his  seeing  her  there  ;  of  the 
time  she  would  be  likely  to  stay.  By  this  time  they 
had  turned  again,  and  were  walking  in  the  direction  of 
the  Manse.  Somehow  or  other,  Coquette  seemed  un- 
willing to  speak  of  Glasgow,  or  to  admit  that  she  ex- 
pected to  see  him  at  Lady  Drum's  house.  When,  in- 
deed, they  had  come  within  sight  of  the  house,  Coquette 
stopped,  and  said  she  would  bid  him  good-bye  there. 

"But  why  are  you  so  sad,  Coquette?"  he  said. 
"This  is  no  farewell ;  most  likely  I  shall  be  in  Glasgow 
before  you." 

"  I  am  sorry  for  that,"  she  said,  with  her  eyes  fixed 
on  the  ground. 

"  Why  now  ?  What  subtle  notion  of  self-sacrifice, 
for  that  it  must  be  if  you  have  resolved  upon  anything, 
have  you  adopted  now  ?  " 


2S0  *  DAUGHTER  OF  HE  TIL  ,  •,-• 

"  You  do  not  seem  to  know  what  reparation  I  dc 
owe  to  my  cousin.  It  is  for  him  I  go  to  Glasgow, 
You  must  not  come  if  it  will  annoy  him,  the  poor  boy  I 
who  has  not  much  to  comfort  him,  except,  except " 

"  Except  the  thought  of  marrying  you,  Coquette," 
said  Lord  Earlshope  ;  "  and  you,  you  seem  to  think  no- 
thing of  yourself,  if  only  you  can  secure  the  happi- 
ness of  everybody  else.  Ah,  well,  if  you  wish  me  to 
see  you  while  you  are  in  Glasgow,  I  will  remain  away. 
Let  your  cousin  have  that  brief  time  of  enjoyment. 
But  for  us  two,  Coquette,  for  us  two  there  is  no  hope  of 
this  separation  being  final." 

"  Hope  ?  "  she  said  ;  "  why  do  you  hope  it  ?  Is  it 
not  pleasant  for  us  to  see  each  other,  if  only  we  do  no 
harm  nor  pain  to  our  friends  ?  Why  do  you  speak  in 
that  way,  as  if  some  great  trouble  was  about  to  befal  us. 
Sometimes  I  do  fear  what  you  say,  and  I  think  of  it  at 
night,  and  tremble,  for  I  have  no  one  that  I  can  speak 
to ;  but  in  the  morning  these  fears  go  away,  for  I  look 
out  of  the  window,  and  I  am  only  anxious  to  see  you." 

"  My  darling ! "  he  said,  with  a  look  of  great  com- 
passion and  tenderness  in  his  eyes,  "you  deserve  the 
happiest  life  that  ever  a  true-hearted  woman  enjoyed  ; 
and  when  I  think  what  I  have  done  to  make  you  miser- 
able  " 

"  Ah,  not  miserable  !  "  she  said.  "  Do  I  look  miser- 
able ?  You  must  not  think  that ;  nor  that  I  am  at  all 
miserable  in  Glasgow.  No,  good-bye,  good-bye " 

"  For  how  long  ?  "  said  he,  taking  both  her  hands  in 
his. 

With  that  she  looked  down,  and  said  in  a  very  low 
voice, — 

"  If  you  are  weary  here,  you  may  come  to  see  me  in 
Glasgow,  once,  twice,  but  not  often " 

The  rest  of  her  words  were  lost,  for  she  found  her- 
self once  more  folded  in  his  arms,  as  he  bade  her  good- 
bye, and  kissed  her. 

"  Good-bye,  Coquette,  good-bye  !  "  he  said,  tenderly  ; 
and  when  she  had  gone  some  way  across  the  moor,  and 
turned  and  saw  him  standing  there,  it  seemed  to  her 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH.  2$l 

that  she  still  heard  him  say  "Good-bye."  He  waved  a 
handkerchief  to  her;  it  was  as  if  he  were  onboard  a 
vessel  standing  out  to  sea,  and  that  soon  a  great  and 
desolate  ocean  would  roll  between  them.  When  she 
got  home,  and  went  up  into  her  own  room,  and  looked 
out  of  the  window,  there  was  no  figure  visible  on  the 
wide  expanse  of  the  moor.  There  was  nothing  there 
but  the  sunshine  and  the  quiet. 

This  was  the  first  day  that  Coquette  had  known  the 
joy  of  being  loved ;  and  lo  !  it  was  already  empty. 
Fair  and  beautiful  the  morning  had  been,  a  day  to  re- 
main a  white  stone  in  her  memory,  but  it  was  already 
numbered  with  the  days  that  were.  And  the  love  that 
filled  her  heart,  it  was  no  gay  and  happy  thing,  to  make 
her  laugh  and  sing  out  of  pure  delight,  but  an  unrest 
and  a  care  she  was  now  to  carry  always  with  her,  won- 
dering whether  its  sweetness  were  as  great  as  its  pain. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

COQUETTE  IN  TOWN. 

As  Coquette  and  Lady  Drum  drew  near  to  Glasgow 
the  impatience  of  the  girl  increased.  Her  thoughts 
flew  on  more  swiftly  than  the  train,  and  they  were  all 
directed  towards  the  Whaup,  whom  she  was  now  about 
to  see. 

"  Will  he  be  at  the  station  ?  Does  he  know  we  are 
coming  ?  Or  shall  we  see  him  as  we  go  along  the 
streets  ? "  she  asked. 

"Dear  me!"  said  Lady  Drum,  "ye  seem  to  think 
that  Glasgow  is  no  bigger  than  Saltcoats.  Meet  him  in 
the  streets  ?  We  should  scarce  see  him  in  the  streets 
if  he  were  dressed  in  scawrlet." 

It  was  growing  towards  dusk  when  the  two  ladies 
arrived.  Lady  Drum's  carriage  was  waiting  at  the  sta- 


252  -4  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

tion  ;  and  presently  Coquette  found  herself  in  the  midst 
of  the  roar  and  turmoil  of  the  great  city.  The  lamps 
on  the  bridges  were  burning  yellow  in  the  gray  coldness 
of  the  twilight;  and  she  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  masses 
of  shipping  down  in  the  dusky  bed  of  the  river.  Then 
up  through  the  busy  streets,  where  the  windows  were 
growing  bright  with  gas,  and  dense  crowds  of  people 
were  hurrying  to  and  fro,  and  the  carts  and  wagons  and 
carriages  raised  a  din  that  was  strange  and  bewildering 
to  ears  grown  accustomed  to  the  stillness  of  Airlie. 

"  Alas  !  "  said  Coquette,  "  I  cannot  see  him  in  this 
crowd,  it  is  impossible." 

Lady  Drum  laughed,  and  said  nothing.  And  so  they 
drove  on,  the  high,  old-fashioned  chariot,  which  ought 
to  have  been  kept  for  state  purposes  down  at  Castle 
Cawmil,  swinging  gently  on  its  big  springs,  up  to  the 
northwestern  district  of  the  city.  When  Coquette  was 
finally  set  down  in  front  of  a  range  of  tall  houses,  the 
rooms  of  which  were  shining  ruddily  through  crimson 
curtains!  she  got  up  the  steps,  and  turned  to  take  a  look 
at  her  new  place  of  abode.  Lo  !  in  front  of  her  there 
was  no  more  city  ;  but  a  great  gulf  of  pale  blue  mist, 
with  here  and  there  an  orange  lamp  burning  in  the  dis- 
tance. There  were  no  more  streets  nor  crowds  nor  great 
wagons ;  and  she  even  became  aware  that  there  were 
trees  in  front  of  .her  and  down  there  in  the  mysterious 
hollow. 

"  Where  am  I  ?  "  she  said.  "  It  is  not  a  town,  ars 
we  in  the  country  again  ?  And  where  is  my  cousin  ? " 

At  this  moment  the  hall-door  was  thrown  open  by 
a  servant ;  and  out  of  the  blaze  of  light  came  a  dapper 
and  fat  little  gentleman,  who,  with  a  light  laugh,  darted 
down  the  steps  and  gave  his  arm  to  Coquette. 

"  Here  we  are  again  !  "  cried  Sir  Peter.  "  Charmed 
to  see  you,  Miss  Cassilis,  quite  charmed ;  hope  you  will 
have  many  a  pleasant  evening,  many  and  many  and 
many  a  pleasant  evening." 

Then  he  was  about  to  hand  her  over  in  his  airy  fash- 
ion to  the  young  person  who  had  been  told  off  as  her 
maid  ;  but  Miss  Coquette  was  rebellious. 


A  DA  UGHTER  OF  HE  TH.  253 

"No,"  she  said.  "I  do  wish  to  go  and  see  my 
cousin  before  anything,  he  does  not  know  I  am  in  th.s 
town,  it  will  be  goodnatured  of  you,  Sir  Peter  to  come 
with  me." 

"  Oh,  certainly  !  certainly  !  Roberts,  stop  the  car- 
riage !  My  lady,  keep  dinner  to  half-past  eight.  Come 
along,  my  dear.  H'm  !  Ha !  Tra-la-la-la  !  " 

Lady  Drum  stood  at  the  open  door,  amazed.  Indeed, 
she  was  so  astounded  by  this  mad  project  on  the  part 
of  her  husband,  within  an  hour  of  dinner-time,  that  she 
had  not  a  word  to  say,  and  in  blank  astonishment  she 
beheld  the  carriage  drive  off.  Once  more  Coquette 
found  herself  getting  into  a  labyrinth  of  streets,  and  the 
farther  they  drove  the  more  noisy  and  dingy  they  seemed 
to  get.  She  began  to  wonder  if  it  were  in  this  place 
that  the  Whaup  had  been  living  for  so  long  a  time,  and 
how  the  thought  of  Airlie  and  the  wild  moorland  and 
the  sea  had  not  broken  his  heart 

It  happens  to  most  lads  who  go  to  college  that  they 
attach  themselves  to  some  friend  and  companion  con- 
siderably older  than  themselves,  who  becomes  their 
counsellor,  teacher,  and  ally.  Nothing  of  the  kind  was 
possible  to  the  Whaup.  His  individuality  was  too  strong 
to  admit  of  his  becoming  ft\o.doppelgang£roi  anybody.  No 
sooner  had  he  thrown  himself  into  the  midst  of  college 
life  than  his  exuberant  spirits,  along  with  a  touch  of  his 
old  love  of  devilment,  attracted  round  him  a  considerable 
circle  of  associates,  of  whom  he  was  the  heart  and  soul. 
It  is  to  be  feared  that  the  Whaup  and  his  friends  did 
not  form  the  most  studious  coterie  to  be  found  in  the 
old  High  Street  building.  Plenty  of  study  there  was  ; 
and  the  Whaup  worked  as  hard  as  any  of  them.  But 
the  wild  evenings  which  these  young  gentlemen  spent 
in  their  respective  lodgings,  the  stories  told  of  their 
dare-devil  pranks,  and  the  very  free-and-easy  manners 
of  more  than  one  of  them,  gained  for  this  band  a  dan- 
gerous reputation.  They  were  held  to  be  rather  wild 
by  the  more  discreet  and  methodical  of  their  fellow-col- 
legians. The  Whaup  himself  was  known  to  stick  at 
nothing.  His  splendid  physique  gave  him  many  advan- 


254 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 


tages  ;  and  after  having  let  daylight  come  in  upon  their 
rambling  and  hot-headed  disquisitions  on  poetry  or 
"  metapheesics,"  on  their  too  copious  beer-drinking  and 
smoking  of  lengthy  clays,  many  were  chagrined  to  meet 
the  Whaup  in  the  forenoon  as  fresh  and  pink  as  a  daisy, 
having  just  completed  his  morning  classes,  and  setting 
out  for  a  long  swinging  walk  around  by  the  Botanic 
Gardens  and  the  Kelvin. 

"  What  a  powerful  fellow  your  cousin  is,"  said  Sir 
Peter,  as  they  drove  along  George  Street.  "  Did  you 
hear  of  his  adventure  at  the  theatre  ?  No  ?  Good  story ; 
very,  good  story  ;  ho  !  ho !  excellent  story.  He  takes  three 
young  ladies  into  the  theatre,  cabman  insults  him,  he 
hands  the  young  ladies  into  the  theatre,  comes  back,  hauls 
the  cabman  down  from  his  box  and  gives  him  a  thorough 
thrashing  in  about  a  minute.  Up  comes  another  cab- 
man, squares  up,  is  sent  flying  into  the  arms  of  a  police- 
man ;  the  policeman  admires  pluck,  and  says  it  serves 
them  both  right.  Your  cousin  goes  into  the  theatre,  sits 
down,  nobody  knows,  Ho,  ho  !  Ha,  ha  !  ha !  " 

"But,  pray  vyho  were  the  young  ladies?  "says  Co- 
quette, with  a  touch  of  proud  asperity. 

"  Young  ladies,  young  ladies,  young  ladies,  who  can 
remember  the  names  of  young  ladies  ? "  said,  or  rather 
hummed,  Sir  Peter,  keeping  time  by  tapping  on  the  car- 
riage window.  "  Why,  I  remember!  Those  charming 
girls  that  sing —  what's  the  song  ?  why,  the  Doctor's 
daughters,  you  know,  Kate  and  Mary  and  Bess,  all  of 
them  Menzies,  Menzies,  Menzies  !  " 

"  I  think  my  cousin  ought  to  attend  to  his  studies, 
rather  than  go  about  with  young  ladies,"  said  Coquette. 

"  So,  ho  !  "  cried  Sir  Peter.  "  Must  a  young  man  have 
no  amusement  ?  Suppose  he  caps  his  studies  by  marry- 
ing one  of  the  Doctor's  daughters  !  " 

"  There  are  plenty  to  choose  from,"  said  Coquette, 
with  an  air  of  disdain. 

Indeed,  the  mention  of  these  three  young  ladies  ren- 
dered Coquette  silent  for  the  rest  of  the  drive  ;  and  Sir 
Peter  was  left  to  talk  and  sing  to  himself.  Yet  it  was 
but  a  little  time  before,  that  Coquette  had  clapped  her 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HE  TIL 


255 


hands  with  joy  on  hearing  that  the  Whaup  had  made 
those  acquaintances,  and  that  she  had  eagerly  asked  Lady 
Drum  if  it  were  probable  he  might  marry  one  of  them. 
Why  should  she  suddenly  feel  jealous  now,  and  refuse  to 
speak  to  this  poor  Sir  Peter,  who  was  risking  his  dinner 
to  do  her  a  service  ? 

Her  face  lightened  considerably  when  the  carriage 
was  pulled  up,  and  she  got  out  to  look  with  some  curiosity 
on  the  gaunt  and  gray  house  in  George  Street  which  bore 
a  number  she  had  often  written  on  her  letters,  Many  a 
time  she  had  thought  of  this  house,  and  mentally  drawn 
a  picture  of  it.  But  the  picture  she  had  drawn  was  of  a 
small  building  with  a  porch  and  green  casements,  and  a 
big  square  in  front,  with  trees  in  it ;  in  short,  she  had 
thought  of  a  quiet  thoroughfare  in  an  old-fashioned  French 
town.  She  was  more  grieved  than  disappointed  with  the 
ugliness  of  this  house. 

Sir  Peter  led  her  up  the  entry,  and  up  the  stone  stairs 
to  the  first  landing.  It  was  her  first  introduction  to  the 
Scotch  system  of  building  houses.  But  her  attention  was 
suddenly  withdrawn  from  this  matter  by  a  considerable 
noise  within,  and  over  the  noise  there  broke  the  music  of 
a  song,  which  was  plentifully  accompanied  by  rappings 
on  a  table  or  on  the  floor. 

"  Ah,  c  est  lui!"  she  suddenly  cried.  "  I  do  know 
it  is  he." 

The  Whaup,  to  tell  the  truth,  had  not  a  very  beautiful 
voice,  but  it  was  strong  enough,  and  both  Sir  Peter  and 
Coquette  could  hear  him  carelessly  shouting  the  words 
cf  an  old  English  ballad, — 

"  Come,  lasses  and  lads,  away  from  your  dads, 

And  away  to  the  maypole  hie, 
For  every  fair  has  a  sweetheart  there, 
And  the  fiddlers  standing  by  ! 

For  Willie  shall  dance  with  Jane, 
And  Johnny  has  got  his  Joan, 
To  trip  it,  trip  it,  trip  it,  trip  it,  trip  it  up  and  down — " 

while  there  was  a  measured  beating  of  hands  and  feet.  Sir 
Peter  had  to  knock  twice  before  any  one  answered  ;  and 
when  the  door  was  opened  lo  it  was  the  Whaup  himself 


256  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HE  TIL 

who  apppeared,  there  being  no  one  else  in  the  house  to 
perform  the  office. 

"  What !  is  it  you,  Coquette  !  "  he  cried,  seizing  both 
her  hands. 

"  Oh,  you  bad  boy  !  "  she  cried,  "  how  you  do  smell 
of  tobacco ! " 

And,  indeed,  there  came  from  the  apartment  he  had 
just  left,  the  door  of  which  was  also  wide  open — rolling 
volumes  of  smoke,  which  nearly  took  Sir  Peter's  breath 
away. 

"  But  what  am  I  to  do  with  you  ?  "  he  said.  "  Mine 
is  the  only  room  in  the  house  that  isn't  in  confusion  just 
now " 

"  We  will  go  in  and  see  your  friends,  if  you  do  not 
object,  and  if  the  gentlemen  will  permit  us,"  said  Co- 
quette, at  once.  Perhaps  she  was  desirous  of  knowing 
what  company  he  kept. 

You  should  have  seen  how  swiftly  those  young  men 
put  away  their  pipes,  and  how  anxious  they  were  to  get 
Coquette  a  chair — and  how  they  strove  to  look  very  milcl 
and  good.  You  would  have  fancied  they  had  been  hold- 
ing a  prayer-meeting ;  but  their  manner  changed  per- 
ceptibly when  Coquette  hoped  she  had  not  interrupted 
their  smoking,  and  graciously  asked  that  the  gentleman 
who  had  been  singing  should  continue,  at  which  there 
was  much  laughter,  for  the  Whaup  looked  confused.  It 
was  in  the  midst  of  this  reawakening  of  voices  that  Sir 
Peter,  who  was  beginning  to  feel  uncomfortable  about  his 
dinner,  explained  the  object  of  his  visit,  and  asked  the 
Whaup  if  he  could  come  along  later  in  the  evening.  Of 
course,  his  friends  counselled  him  to  go  at  once ;  but  he 
was  not  so  lost  to  all  notions  of  hospitality. 

"  No,"  said  he  ;  "I  will  come  and  see  you  to-morrow 
night." 

Coquette  looked  hurt. 

"  Well,"  said  her  cousin  to  her,  with  a  dash,  of  his 
old  impertinence,  "  you  can  stay  here  if  you  like,  and  let 
Sir  Peter  go  home  with  an  excuse  for  you." 

The  young  men  looked  as  if  they  would  have  liked 
to  second  that  invitation,  but  dared  not.  Indeed,  they 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HE  TIL 


257 


regarded  Coquette,  whose  foreign  accent  they  had  no- 
ticed, in  rather  an  awestricken  way.  Perhaps  she  was 
a  French  princess  who  had  come  on  a  visit  to  Sir  Peter  ; 
and  she  looked  like  a  princess,  and  had  the  calm  gracious- 
ness  and  self-possession  of  a  princess.  That  was  no 
blushing  country  girl  who  sat  there,  the  small  lady  with 
the  delicate  and  pale  features,  and  the  large,  quiet,  dark 
eyes,  who  had  a  wonderful  air  of  ease  and  grace.  The 
rough  students  felt  their  eyes  fall  when  she  looked  at 
them.  What  would  they  not  have  given  to  have  spoken 
with  her  for  a  whole  evening,  and  looked  at  the  wonders 
of  her  costume  and  the  splendor  of  her  dark  hair  ? 

"What  do  you  say,  Coquette  ?"  said  the  Whaup  ; 
and  they  all  pricked  up  their  ears  to  hear  her  called  by 
this  strange  name. 

Coquette  laughed.  Doubtless  she  considered  the 
proposal  as  a  piece  of  her  cousin's  raillery  ;  but  any  one 
at  all  conversant  with  the  secret  likings  of  the  young, 
lady,  as  the  Whaup  was,  must  have  known  that  she  was 
perhaps  not  so  averse  to  spending  an  evening  with  a  lot 
of  young  students  as  she  ought  to  have  been. 

"  Perhaps  I  should  like  it,"  she  said  frankly,  "  if  you 
did  all  sing  to  me,  and  tell  stories,  and  make  me  one  of 
your  companions.  But  I  am  very  hungry,  I  have  had 
no  dinner." 

"  Bravely  and  sensibly  spoken  !  "  cried  Sir  Peter,  who 
bad  become  alarmed  by  this  outrageous  suggestion  put. 
out  by  the  Whaup.  "  Come  along,  my  dear  Miss  Cas- 
silis ;  your  cousin  will  come  to-night,  or  to-morrow 
night." 

"  Good-bye,  Tom,"  said  Coquette.  "  I  am  pleased 
you  enjoy  yourself  in  Glasgow.  It  is  not  all  study  and 
books.  And  now  I  know  why  you  did  write  to  me  such 
very  short  letters." 

"  Look  here,  Coquette,"  said  he,  as  they  were  leav- 
ing. "  What  are  you  going  to  do  to-morrow  forenoon  ? 
I  suppose  you'll  be  driving  about,  and  seeing  grand  peo- 
ple, and  you  won't  have  a  word  for  me." 

•'  Ah,  you  wicked  boy,  to  say  that ! "  she  said  reproach- 
fully. "  You  will  come  for  me  to-morrow  when  you 


2  58  A  DA  UGHTER  OF  HE  777. 

choose — nine,  ten,  eleven — and  we  will  go  for  a  walk 
just  where  you  please,  and  I  will  speak  to  nobody  but 
you,  and  you  shall  show  me  all  the  things  worth  seeing 
in  Glasgow  and  round  about." 

"  Why  Coquette,  it  is  all  like  a  dream  come  true  !  " 
he  cried,  "  And  to  think  that  you  are  in  Glasgow  at 
last!" 

With  that  Sir  Peter  offered  the  young  lady  his  arm, 
and  hurried  her  downstairs.  He  was  anxious  about  his 
dinner. 

The  Whaup  returned  to  his  companions,  and  instantly 
perceived  that  they  were  treating  him  with  unusual  re- 
spect. They  would  talk,  also,  about  the  young  lady  ; 
and  whether  she  would  remain  in  Glasgow ;  and  where 
the  Whaup  had  seen  her  first ;  and  whether  she  would 
likely  be  up  at  his  rooms  any  other  evening  Master 
Tom  was  not  very  communicative,  but  at  last  one  ven- 
tured to  say, — 

"  Tell  us,  now,  Cassilis,  is  she  likely  to  be  married 
soon  ? " 

"  She  is,"  said  the  Whaup. 

"  To  whom  ?  " 

"  To  me,"  said  the  Whaup. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

ALL  ABOUT  KELVIN-SIDE. 

TALK  of  Glasgow  being  a  dull,  gray  city !  When 
the  Whaup  got  up  next  morning  at  half-past  six,  and 
looked  out,  it  seemed  to  him  that  the  empty  pavements 
were  made  of  gold,  that  the  fronts  of  the  houses  were 
shining  with  a  new  light,  and  the  air  full  of  a  delicious 
tingling.  For  did  not  the  great  city  hold  in  it  the  beat 
ing  heart  of  Coquette  ;  and  were  not  all  the  thorough- 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH.  259 

fares  aware  of  the  consecration  that  had  fallen  on  them 
by  her  arrival  ?  Away  he  sped  to  his  classes  ;  and  his 
boots,  as  they  rang  in  the  street,  clattered  "  Coquette !  " 
and  "  Coquette  !  "  and  "  Coquette  !  "  If  the  Professor 
had  known  that  Coquette  was  in  Glasgow,  would  he 
have  looked  so  dull,  and  been  so  miserably  slow  ? 
What  was  the  use  of  this  gabble  about  ancient  lan- 
guages, when  Coquette  had  brought  her  pretty  French 
idioms  with  her,  and  was  even  now  getting  up  to  look 
out  on  the  greenness  of  Hillhead  and  down  on  the 
sluggish  waters  of  Kelvin.  Alas  !  why  were  the  half- 
hours  so  full  of  minutes  ;  and  might  not  the  sunshine 
be  altogether  faded  out  of  the  sky  before  he  could  get 
westward  to  welcome  Coquette  ? 

He  dashed  home  from  college  to  his  lodgings,  and 
then  arrayed  himself  in  his  tidiest  garments,  and  fresh- 
ened himself  up,  singing  the  while  some  snatches  of 
"  Sally  in  our  Alley."  The  tall  and  smart  young  man 
who  now  issued  into  George  Street,  and  made  his  way 
westward  as  fast  as  his  long  legs  could  carry  him,  bore  but 
little  resemblance  to  the  devil-may-care  lad  who  had 
lounged  about  Airlie  and  tormented  his  father's  neigh- 
bors. Yet  he  was  singing  one  of  his  boyish  songs  as 
he  strode  along  the  thoroughfare,  and  ever  and  anon  he 
looked  up  at  the  sky  to  make  sure  that  it  was  going  to 
be  kindly  to  Coquette.  Why,  the  light  mist  of  the 
morning  was  now  clearing  away,  and  a  blaze  of  sun- 
shine was  striking  here  and  there  along  the  northern 
side  of  Sauchiehall  Street.  'Tis  a  pleasant  street,  un- 
der particular  circumstances.  Shops  are  its  landmarks  ; 
but  they  grow  poetic  in  the  eyes  of  youth.  It  seemed 
to  the  Whaup  that  the  boots  in  the  windows  looked  un- 
usually elegant  ;  that  never  before  had  he  seen  such 
taste  in  the  arrangement  of  Normandy  pippins  ;  that 
even  the  odor  of  a  bakery  had  something  in  it  that 
touched  sweet  memories.  For,  indeed,  the  shops  and 
the  windows  and  the  people,  and  Sauchiehall  Street 
itself,-were  to  him  on  that  morning  but  phantasms ; 
and  all  around  him  the  air  and  the  sky  and  the  sunshine 
were  full  of  Coquette,  and  nothing  but  Coquette.  He 


2  6  o  A  DA  UGHTER  OF  HE  777. 

fell  in  love  with  Sauchiehall  Street  on  that  morning  ; 
and  he  has  never  quite  forgotten  his  old  affection. 

He  walked  up  to  the  front  of  the  great  house  overlook- 
ing the  Park  which  Sir  Peter  had  borrowed,  and  was  glad 
that  the  door  was  opened  by  a  girl  instead  of  by  a  man- 
servant, a  creature  whom  he  half  feared  and  half  disliked. 
The  young  person  had  scarcely  shown  him  into  the 
spacious  drawing-room  when  he  heard  a  quick  flutter 
of  a  dress,  and  Coquette  herself  came  rushing  in,  and 
overwhelmed  him  with  her  questions  and  her  exclama- 
tions and  her  looks.  For  she  could  not  understand 
what  had  altered  him  so  much  until  she  perceived  that 
his  moustache,  which  had  been  rather  feeble  on  their 
last  meeting,  had  now  assumed  quite  formidable  pro- 
portions ;  and  it  was  only  a  significant  threat  on  his 
part  that  caused  her  to  cease  her  grave  and  ironical 
compliments. 

And  where  should  they  go  on  this  bright  summer 
morning  ? 

"  Lady  Drum,  she  has  gone  into  the  town  to  buy 
ornaments  for  the  grand  dinner  of  Friday,"  said  Co- 
quette, "  to  which  you  are  invited,  Mr.  Whaup,  by  a 
gilt  card  which  I  did  address  for  you  this  morning. 
And  I  would  not  go  with  her,  for  I  said,  my  cousin 
comes  for  me,  and  he  would  be  angry  if  I  were  not  here, 
and  he  is  very  disagreeable  when  he  is  angry.  Enfitit 
let  us  go  and  you  will  amuse  me  by  all  that  is  to  be 
seen.'" 

Now  when  Coquette  had  got  herself  ready,  and  they 
went  out,  the  Whaup  took  a  very  strange  road  to  the 
city  by  going  down  to  Kelvin  Bridge,  The  farther 
they  went,  over  Hillhead  and  farther  westward,  the  less 
appearance  there  was  of  streets  and  shops,  until  the 
Whaup  had  to  confess  that  he  had  led  her,  with  malice 
prepense  directly  away  from  the  town.  And  so  they 
went  into  the  country. 

He  took  her  into  all  the  haunts  and  nooks  that  he 
had  explored  by  himself,  clown  to  the  Pear-tree  Well, 
back  again,  and  alongthe  Kelvin,  and  then  up  by  the  cross- 
road which  leads  to  Maryhill.  Here  they  paused  in  their 


A  DA  UGHTRR  OF  HE  TIT.  2  6 1 

wanderings  to  look  over  the  great  extent  of  country 
which  lay  before  them  ;  and  the  Whaup  told  her  that  far 
away  on  the  left,  if  she  had  a  wonderful  telescope,  she 
might  see  the  lonely  uplands  about  Airlie,  and  catch  a 
glimpse  of  the  long  sweep  of  the  sea. 

"  I  used  to  come  up  here,"  he  said,  "  all  by  myself, 
and  wonder  what  you  were  doing  away  down  there.  And 
when  the  sun  came  out,  I  thought,  '  Ah,  Coquette  is  en- 
joying herself  now.' " 

"  All  that  is  very  pretty,"  said  Coquette,  "  and  I 
should  be  sorry  for  you,  perhaps.  But  I  do  find  you 
have  still  some  amusement.  What  is  it  you  sing  ? — 
'  Come,  lasses  and  lads,  away  from  your  dads  ? '  What 
is  '  dads!'" 

"  Never  mind,  Coquette.  It  is  only  a  song  to  keep 
up  one's  heart,  you  know,  not  to  be  talked  about  on  a 
morning  like  this,  between  us  two.  I  want  to  say  some- 
thing very  nice  to  you,  and  friendly,  and  even  sentimen- 
tal, but  I  don't  know  how.  What  shall  I  say  ?  " 

"  It  is  not  for  me  to  tell  you,"  remarked  Coquette, 
with  some  air  of  disdain. 

And  yet  as  they  stood  there,  and  looked  away  over 
the  far  country  towards  Airlie  and  the  sea,  they  some- 
how forgot  to  talk.  Indeed,  as  Coquette,  leaning  on  the 
low  stone  wall,  gazed  away  westward,  a  shadow  seemed 
to  cross  her  face.  Was  she  thinking  of  all  that  had  hap- 
pened there,  and  of  her  present  position — mayhap  work- 
ing grievous  wrong  by  this  thoughtless  kindness  to  her 
cousin  ?  Was  she  right  in  trying  to  atone  for  previous 
neglect  by  an  excess  of  goodness  which  might  be  cruel 
to  him  in  after-life?  Her  companion  saw  that  a  sudden 
silence  and  pensiveness  had  fallen  over  her,  and  he  drew 
ner  gently  away,  and  began  their  homeward  walk. 

On  their  way  back  they  again  went  down  to  the  Kelvin, 
and  he  proposed  that  they  should  rest  for  a  little  while 
in  the  bit  of  meadow  opposite  the  Pear-tree  Well.  They 
sat  down  amid  the  long  grass,  and  when  any  one  crossed 
the  small  wooden  bridge,  which  was  but  seldom,  Co- 
quette hid  her  face  under  her  sunshade,  and  was  un- 
seen. 


262  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETIL 

"  Are  you  tired  ?  "  said  the  Whaup. 

"  Tired  ?  No.  I  do  walk  about  all  day  sometimes  at 
Airlie." 

"  Then  why  have  you  grown  so  silent  ? " 

"I  have  been  thinking." 

"  Of  what  ?  " 

"  Oh  many  things — I  do  not  know." 

"  Coquette,"  he  said  suddenly,  "  do  you  know  that 
the  well  over  there  used  to  be  a  trysting-place  for  lovers 
and  that  they  used  to  meet  there  and  join  their  hands 
over  the  well,  and  swear  that  they  would  marry  each 
other  some  day  or  other  I  suppose  did  some  marry  and 
some  didn't  ;  but  wasn't  it  very  pleasant  in  the  meantime 
to  look  forward  to  that  ?  Coquette,  if  you  would  only  give 
me  your  hand  now!  I  will  wait  any  time,  I  have  waited 
already,  Coquette  ;  but  if  you  will  only  say  now  that  I 
may  look  forward  to  some  day,  far  away,  that  I  can  come 
and  remind  you  of  your  promise,  think  what  it  would  be 
to  have  that  to  carry  about  with  one.  You  will  be  going 
back  to  Airlie,  Coquette,  I  mavn't  see  you  for  ever  so 
long." 

He  paused,  for  she  seemed  strangely  disturbed.  She 
looked  up  at  him  with  eyes  which  were  wild  and 
alarmed. 

"  Ah,  do  not  say  any  more,"  she  said  ;  "  I  will  do 
anything  for  you,  but  not  that,  not  that." 

And  then  she  said,  a  moment  afterwards,  in  a  voice 
which  was  very  low  and  full  of  sadness, — 

"  Or  see,  I  will  promise  to  marry  you,  if  you  like, 
after  many,  many  years,  only  not  now,  not  within  a  few 
years,  afterwards  I  will  do  what  you  like." 

"  But  have  I  offended  you  ?  Why  do  you  cry,  Co- 
quette ?  Look  here,  I'd  cut  my  fingers  off  before  I  would 
ask  anything  of  you  that  pained  you.  What  is  the  mat- 
ter, Coquette  ?  Does  it  grieve  you  to  think  of  what  I 
ask  ? " 

"  No — no!"  she  said  hurriedly,  with  tears  stealing 
down  her  face.  "  It  is  right  of  you  to  ask  it,  and  I — I 
must  say  yes.  My  uncle  does  expect  it,  does  he  not  ? 
and  you  yourself,  Tom,  you  have  been  very  good  to  me, 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH.  263 

and  if  only  this  will  make  you  happy,  I  will  be  your 
wife." 

"  You  will  ? "  said  he,  with  his  handsome  face  burn- 
ing with  joy. 

"  But — but,"  said  Coquette,  with  the  dark  eyes  still 
wet,  and  the  head  bent  down  so  that  he  could  scarce  see 
her  face,  "  not  until  after  many  years.  And  all  that  time 
Tom,  I  shall  pray  that  you  may  get  a  better  wife  than  I, 
and  a  wife  who  could  be  to  you  all  that  you  deserve,  and 
in  this  long  time  you  may  meet  some  one,  and  your 
heart  will  say,  She  is  better  for  me  than  Coquette' 

"  Better  than  you,  Coquette  !  "  he  cried.  "  Is  there 
anybody  in  all  the  world  better  than  you  ?  " 

"Ah,  you  do  not  think,  you  do  not  remember.  You 
do  not  know  anything  of  me  yet,  I  am  a  stranger  to  you, 
and  I  have  been  brought  up  differently  from  you.  And 
did  not  Leeziebess  say  I  had  come  to  do  mischief  among 
you,  and  that  my  French  bringing  up  was  danger- 
ous ?  " 

"  But  you  know,  Coquette,  that  your  goodness  even 
turned  the  heart  of  that  horrible  old  idiot  towards  you  ; 
and  you  must  not  say  another  word  against  yourself,  for 
I  will  not  believe  it.  And  if  you  only  knew  how  proud 
and  happy  you  have  made  me,"  he  added,  taking  her  hand 
affectionately  and  gratefully. 

"  I  am  glad  of  that,"  said  Coquette,  in  a  low  voice. 
"  You  deserve  to  be  very  happy.  But  it  is  a  great  many 
years  off,  and  in  that  time  I  will  tell  you  more  of  my- 
self than  I  have  told  you  yet.  I  cannot  just  now,  my 
poor  boy,  for  your  eyes  are  so  full  of  gladness  ;  but  some 
day  you  will  believe  it  fortunate  for  you  if  you  can  mar- 
ry some  one  else,  and  I  will  rejoice  at  that  too." 

"  Why/'  said  he,  with  some  good-natured  surprise  in 
his  voice,  "  you  talk  as  if  there  was  some  one^//  wanted 
to  marry." 

"  No,"  said  Coquette  with  a  sigh,  "there  is  no  one." 

"And  now,  then,"  said  the  Whaup  gayly,  as  he  as- 
sisted her  to  rise,  "  I  call  upon  all  the  leaves  of  the  trees, 
and  all  the  drops  in  the  river,  and  all  the  light  in  the  air, 
to  bear  witness  that  I  have  won  Coquette  for  my  wife  ; 


204  A  DA  UGHTER  OF  HE  777. 

and  I  ask  the  sky  always  to  have  sunshine  for  her,  and 
I  ask  the  winds  to  take  care  of  her  and  be  very  gentle  tc 
her,  for  isn't  she  my  Coquette  ? " 

"  Ah,  you  foolish  boy  !  "  she  said,  with  sad  and  tear 
ful  eyes,  "  you  have  given  me  a  dangerous  name.  But 
no  matter.  If  it  pleases  you  to-day  to  think  I  shall  be 
your  wife,  I  am  glad. ' 

Of  course,  in  lover's  fashion,  he  laughed  at  her  fears, 
and  strove  to  lend  her  a  leaven  of  his  own  high-hearted 
confidence.  And  in  thiswise  they  returned  to  Glasgow, 
as  lovers  have  done  before  them,  as  lovers  will  do  after 
them  again  and  again,  so  long  as  youth  hungers  for  bright 
eyes  and  laughs  to  scorn  all  the  perils  the  future  may 
hold.  And  if  the  Whaup  thought  well  of  Glasgow  on 
that  morning  when  he  set  Mit,  you  may  guess  what  he 
thought  of  the  city  as  he  now  returned  to  it,  and  of  the 
strange  transfiguration  undergone  by  the  distant  clouds 
of  smoke,  and  the  tall  chimneys,  and  the  long  and  mono- 
tonous streets.  Romance  had  bathed  the  old  gray  town 
in  the  hues  of  the  sunset ;  and  for  him  henceforth  Glas- 
gow was  no  longer  a  somewhat  commonplace  and  mat- 
ter-of-fact mass  of  houses,  but  a  realm  of  mystery  and 
dreams  which  love  had  lit  up  with  the  colored  lime-light 
of  wonder  and  hope. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

LADY  DRUM'S  DINNER-PARTY. 

So  Coquette  had  engaged  herself  to  marry  her  cousin. 
She  knew  not  why,  but  there  were  strange  forebodings 
crowding  her  mind  as  she  contemplated  that  as  yet  dis- 
tant prospect.  It  seemed  to  her  that  life  would  be  a 
pleasant  and  enjoyable  thing  if  all  the  people  around  her 
were  satisfied,  like  herself,  to  leave  it  as  they  found  it, 
and  continue  those  amicable  relations  which  were  quiet- 


A  DAUGHTER  OF HETH.  265 

er,  safer,  more  comfortable  than  the  wild  and  strange 
perplexities  which  appeared  to  follow  in  the  train  of  love. 
Love  had  become  a  fearful  thing  to  her.  She  looked 
forward  to  meeting  Lord  Earlshope  with  something 
very  like  alarm  ;  and  yet  his  absence  was  a  source  of 
vague  unrest  and  anxiety.  She  longed  to  see  him  ;  and 
yet  dreaded  a  repetition  of  those  bizarre  and  terrible 
scenes  which  had  marked  the  opening  days  of  their  in- 
timacy. And  the  more  she  looked  at  her  own  position, 
the  longer  she  dwelt  on  the  possibilities  that  lay  before 
her  in  the  future,  the  less  could  she  unravel  the  toils  that 
seemed  gathering  around  her  and  binding  her  with  iron 
chains. 

Was  this,  then,  the  happy  phase  of  life  into  which 
she  had  seen,  with  something  of  envy,  her  old  compan- 
ions and  playmates  enter  ?  Was  this  the  delight  of  be- 
ing in  love  ?  Were  these  the  joyous  experiences  which 
were  sung  in  many  a  ballad,  and  described  in  many  a 
merry  theatre-piece,  and  dwelt  lovingly  upon  in  many  a 
story  ? 

"  I  am  eighteen,"  she  said  to  herself,  in  these  solitary 
musings.  "  It  is  the  time  for  young  people  to  be  in  love, 
and  yet  I  hate  it  and  fear  it,  and  I  wish  that  I  did  never 
come  to  this  country.  Alas  !  it  is  too  late  to  go  away 
now." 

And  again  she  asked  herself  if  she  had  brought 
those  perils  now  looming  distinctly  in  the  future,  upon 
herself  by  her  own  fault.  Wherein  had  she  erred  ? 
Surely  not  through  selfishness.  She  loved  Lord  Earls- 
hope,  and  was  content  to  be  loved  by  him,  without 
even  dreaming  that  he  was  thereby  bound  to  her  in  any 
shape  whatever.  Indeed  she  seemed  to  think  that  by 
way  of  reparation  to  her  cousin  it  was  her  duty  to  marry 
him,  and  she  had  consented  only  because  she  thought 
she  would  make  him  happy.  In  neither  direction  was 
there  the  least  regard  for  herself ;  but  only  a  desire  to 
please  her  friends  all  around;  and  yet  it  seemed  that  those 
very  efforts  of  hers  were  doomed  to  plunge  her  deeper 
and  deeper  into  the  sea  of  troubles  in  which  she  found 
herself  sinking.  Was  there  no  hand  to  save  her  ?  She 


266  ^  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

knew  not  how  it  had  all  come  about ;  but  she  did  know 
that  in  the  odd  moments  in  which  a  consciousness  of 
her  situation  flashed  upon  her  a  vague  terror  took 
possession  of  her,  and  she  looked  forward  with  dismay 
to  the  coming  years. 

These  moments,  fortunately,  occurred  at  considera- 
ble intervals.  The  temperament  of  the  girl  was  natu- 
rally light  and  cheerful.  She  was  glad  to  enjoy  the 
quiet  pleasure  of  everyday  life,  and  forget  those  gloomy 
anxieties  which  lay  in  the  future.  And  this  visit  to 
Glasgow  was  full  of  all  manner  of  new  experiences,  de- 
lights, excitements,  which  drove  her  forebodings  out  of 
her  head,  and  led  the  Whaup  to  believe  that  she  was 
proud  to  have  become  his  affianced  wife.  Why  had  she 
cried,  he  asked  himself,  when  he  urged  his  suit  in  that 
bit  of  meadow  on  the  banks  of  the  Kelvin  ?  It  did  not 
matter.  The  Whaup  was  not  himself  inclined  to  mor- 
bid speculation.  Doubtless,  girls  were  strange  creatures. 
They  cried  when  they  were  most  pleased.  They  turned 
pale  or  fainted,  or  achieved  some  other  extraordinary 
feat,  on  the  smallest  emotional  provocation.  It  was 
enough  for  him  to  hear  Coquette's  merry  laugh  to  con- 
vince him  that  she  was  not  very  sorry  for  what  she  had 
done  ;  and  everybody,  from  Lady  Drum  downwards, 
bore  testimony  to  the  fact  that  the  visit  to  Glasgow  had 
wonderfully  improved  the  girl's  health  and  spirits.  You 
had  only  to  look  at  the  new  and  faint  color  in  her  pale 
cheeks,  and  the  glad  brightness  of  her  eyes. 

Then  there  was  the  grand  dinner  coming  oft,  which 
was  to  introduce  Coquette  to  Lady  Drum's  Glasgow 
friends.  The  Whaup,  of  course,  was  invited  ;  and,  as 
there  never  had  been  occasion  for  his  wearing  evening 
dress  down  in  Airlie,  his  slender  store  of  money  was 
deeply  dipped  into  by  his  preparations.  But  when  his 
name  was  announced,  and  he  walked  into  the  drawing- 
room,  where  Lady  Drum  was  receiving  her  guests,  the 
appearance  of  the  tall  and  handsome  young  man  attracted 
a  good  many  eyes  ;  and  Coquette,  who  had  ran  for- 
ward to  meet  him,  was  quite  overcome  by  wonder  and  de- 
light over  his  transformation  from  a  raw  country  lad  into 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH.  267 

an  elegant  young  gentleman,  and  could  not  refrain  from 
snying  as  much  to  him  in  a  whisper.  The  Whaup,  who 
had  looked  around  for  her  on  his  entrance  into  the 
room,  laughed,  and  blushed  a  little,  and  then  drew  her 
away  into  a  corner,  and  said, — 

"  It  is  all  the  white  tie,  Coquette,  isn't  it  ?  Don't 
you  think  I've  managed  it  well  ?  But  I  am  awfully 
afraid  that  a  sneeze  would  send  everything  flying,  and 
fill  the  air  with  bits  of  cambric.  And  it  was  very  good 
of  you,  Coquette,  to  send  me  those  studs.  Don't  they 
look  pretty  ? — and  I'll  kiss  you  for  sending  me  them 
whenever  I  get  the  chance." 

With  which  Coquette  drew  herself  up  and  said, — 

"  You  do  talk  of  kissing  me  as  if  it  were  every  day. 
Yet  you  have  not  kissed  me,  nor  are  likely  to  do  that, 
until  you  are  a  great  deal  better-behaved,  and  less  vain 
of  yourself.  You  do  talk  of  not  being  able  to  sneeze, 
merely  that  I  look  at  the  negligent  way  you  have  made 
your  necktie  and  your  collar,  to  open  your  throat,  you 
foolish  boy,  and  give  yourself  a  cold." 

At  this  moment  Sir  Peter  bustled  up  to  get  hold  of 
Coquette,  and  introduce  her  to  some  civic  dignitaries  ; 
and  the  Whaup,  with  some  chagrin,  saw  her  disappear 
in  a  crowd  of  bailies.  He  himself  was  speedily  recalled 
to  his  duty,  for  the  remainder  of  the  guests  were  arriv- 
ing rapidly,  and  among  them  were  some  whom  he  knew. 
He  soon  found  himself  being  teased  by  the  daughters  of 
his  friend,  Dr.  Menzies,  three  tall,  light-haired,  merry- 
hearted  girls,  who  rather  made  a  pet  of  him.  And  all 
at  once  one  of  them  said  to  him, — 

"  Why,  is  that  your  cousin  there,  the  girl  in  white, 
with  the  tea-rose  in  her  breast?  It  is?  How  hand- 
some she  is  ;  and  how  well  she  knows  the  proper  sort 
of  flower  for  her  dark  hair !  Did  you  say  she  was  an 
Italian?" 

"  No,  a  Mongolian,"  said  the  Whaup,  emphatically ; 
for  he  did  not  like  to  have  Coquette  spoken  of  by  any- 
body in  this  cool  and  critical  fashion. 

"  Does  she  sing  ?  " 

"  I  should  think  so,"  he  said,  curtly. 


26S  *  DA  UGHTER  OF  HE  TV. 

At  this  very  moment  Coquette  came  towards  him, 
and  then,  seeing  that  he  was  talking  to  three  young 
ladies,  suddenly  turned  and  looked  for  Sir  Peter,  whom 
she  had  just  left.  The  Whaup  was  at  her  side  in  a  mo- 
ment. 

"  What  is  it,  Coquette  ?  •"  he  said. 

"  Nothing,"  she  said  coldly. 

"  You  know  you  were  coming  to  speak  to  me." 

"  But  I  did  find  you  engaged,"  she  said,  with  a  slight 
touch  of  haiiteur  in  her  tone.  "  Who  are  these  young 
ladies  ?  Are  they  your  friends  whose  father  is  the 
doctor  ?  Why  do  you  leave  them  ? " 

"  Coquette,  if  you  are  unreasonable  I  will  go  away 
and  not  return  the  whole  evening.  What  did  you  come 
to  tell  me  ?  " 

"  I  did  come  to  say,"  replied  Coquette,  speaking  with 
a  studied  and  calm  carelessness,  "  that  Lady  Drum  has 
asked  Bailie  Maclaren  (I  do  think  that  is  the  name)  to 
take  me  in  to  dinner,  and  I  do  not  like  it,  for  I  would 
rather  have  sat  by  you  ;  but  it  is  of  no  consequence  since 
you  are  occupied  with  your  friends." 

"Ho,  ho!"  said  the  Whaup,  confidently.  "Lady 
Drum  asked  me  to  take  in  that  old  woman  with  the 
feathers,  Mrs.  Colquhoun  ;  but  don't  you  imagine  I  am 
such  a  fool,  Coquette,  oh,  no  !  " 

"  What  will  you  do  ?  "  said  Coquette,  with  her  face 
brightening  up. 

The  Whaup  said  nothing  for  a  second  or  two,  but 
just  then,  a  motion  towards  pairing  having  taken  place, 
elderly  gentlemen  bowing  graciously  and  desirous  of 
"  having  the  honor,"  the  Whaup  darted  up  to  Bailie 
Maclaren,  a  venerable  person  in  spectacles,  who  was 
looking  out  for  his  appointed  partner,  and  said  in  a  hur- 
ried whisper, — 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,  but  Lady  Drum  bids  me  tell 
you  she  would  be  much  obliged  if  you  would  kindly  take 
in  Mrs.  Colquhoun,  the  old  lady  near  the  piano,  do  you 
see  her?" 

The  Whaup  did  not  wait  for  any  reply  from  the  be- 
wildered old  gentleman,  but  instantly  returned  to  Co- 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HRTH.  269 

quette,  caught  her  hand,  placed  it  on  his  arm,  and 
hurried  her  into  the  dining-room  in  defiance  of  all  order 
and  the  laws  of  precedence.  Not  for  some  time  did 
Lady  Drum  see  what  had  occurred.  It  was  not  until  the 
soup  had  been  cleared  away  that  she  caught  a  glimpse 
of  Coquette  and  the  Whaup  sitting  comfortably  together 
at  a  portion  of  the  table  where  neither  ought  to  have 
been,  and  the  face  of  the  young  lady,  who  wore  tea-rose- 
buds twisted  in  the  loose  masses  of  her  dark  hair,  was 
particularly  bright  and  happy,  for  her  companion  was 
telling  her  wonderful  stories  of  his  college  life,  lies, 
doubtless,  for  the  most  part,  or  nearly  approaching  there- 
unto. 

"  It  was  rather  shabby  of  you,  Coquette,"  he  said,  •'  to 
run  away  like  that  when  I  wanted  to  introduce  you  to 
Dr.  Menzies'  girls." 

*'  I  was  introduced  to  too  many  people  ;  I  cannot  re- 
member all  such  names.  Besides,  I  do  not  like  girls  with 
straw-colored  hair." 

"  Oh,  for  shame,  Coquette  !  You  know  it  isn't  straw- 
color,  but  golden,  and  very  pretty.  Well,  I  would  have 
introduced  you  to  those  two  young  ladies  who  sit  near 
Sir  Peter,  and  who  have  hair  as  dark  and  as  handsome 
as  your  own." 

"  Who  are  they  ?  "  said  Coquette,  submissively  ;  for 
she  was  bound  to  be  consistent. 

"  They  live  in  Regent's  Park  Terrace,"  said  the 
Whaup,  which  did  not  afford  his  companion  much  in- 
formation, "  and  they  have  the  most  lovely  contralto 
voices.  You  should  hear  the  younger  one  sing  the  '  Ash 
Grove.' " 

"  I  do  think  you  know  too  many  young  ladies,"  said 
Coquette,  with  a  pout,  which  was  so  obviously  assumed 
that  he  laughed  ;  and  then  she  began  to  tell  him  in  con- 
fidence, and  in  a  very  low  voice,  that  she  was  very  an- 
xious for  the  appearance  of  the  first  entrees,  merely  that 
she  should  have  a  little  sparkling  wine. 

"Champagne!"  said  the  Whaup  suddenly  to  the 
servant  behind  him  ;  at  which  Coquette  looked  much 
alarmed  and  embarrassed.  The  man  went  and  brought 


270 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HE  TIL 


a  bottle,  and  the  Whaup  was  rude  enough  to  take  it  from 
him  and  fill  Coquette's  glass,  and  then  smuggle  it  behind 
a  big  epergne,  where  it  was  wholly  concealed  by  flowers. 

"  You  wicked  boy  !  "  said  Coquette,  fearing  that  all 
eyes  had  been  drawn  towards  them ;  but  the  Whaup 
calmly  gazed  down  the  table  and  saw  that  the  guests 
were  occupied  with  their  own  affairs. 

And  so  the  dinner  went  on,  and  these  two  young 
people  were  very  happy  ;  for  it  was  the  first  time  that 
the  Whaup  had  appeared  in  society  along  with  Coquette, 
and  he  felt  a  right  of  property  in  her,  and  was  proud  of 
her.  She  had  given  him  to  understand  that  their  mar- 
riage was  a  thing  so  distant  and  vague  that  it  was 
scarcely  to  be  thought  of  as  yet ;  but  in  the  meantime 
he  regarded  her  as  virtually  his  wife,  and  no  longer  con- 
sidered himself  a  solitary  unit  lost  in  this  crowd  of  mar- 
ried people.  He  was  very  attentive  to  Coquette.  He 
was  particular  as  to  the  dainties  which  she  ate  ;  he  as- 
sumed authority  over  her  in  the  matter  of  wine.  Why, 
it  was  as  if  they  were  children  playing  at  beeing  husband 
and  wife,  in  a  fantastic  grotto  of  their  own  creation  ; 
while  the  serious  interests  of  the  world  were  allowed  to 
pass  outside  unheeded,  and  they  cared  not  to  think  of 
any  future,  so  busy  were  they  in  wreathing  flowers. 

"  Coquette,"  said  he,  "  if  you  are  good,  I  will  sing 
you  a  song  when  we  go  into  the  drawing-room." 

u  I  do  know,"  said  Coquette,  with  the  least  trace  of 
contempt.  "  It  is  always  '  Come  lasses  and  lads,  Come 
lasses  and  lads'  ;  that  is  your  song  always.  Now,  if 
you  did  sing  some  proper  song,  I  would  play  an  accom- 
paniment for  you.  But  perhaps  some  of  your  young 
lady  friends  down  there — can  they  play  the  accompani- 
ment for  you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  the  Whaup,  lightly.  "  But,  of  course, 
none  of  them  can  play  or  sing  like  you,  you  know.  Now 
if  you  only  saw  yourself  at  this  moment,  Coquette,  how 
your  white  dress,  and  the  glare  from  the  table,  and  the 
strong  lights  make  your  hair  and  your  eyes  look  so  dark 
as  lo  be  almost  wild,  and  those  pretty  yellow  rosebuds — * 

"  Have  I   not  told  you,"  said  Coquette,  with   some 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 


271 


asperity,  "  that  it  is  very,  very  bad  manners  to  mention 
one's  appearance  or  dress  ?  I  did  tell  you  often,  you 
must  not  do  it  ;  and  if  people  do  hear  you  call  me  Co- 
quette, what  will  they  say  of  me  ?  " 

"  Go  on,"  said  the  Whaup,  mockingly  ;  "  let  us  have 
all  the  lecture  at  once." 

"  Alas  !"  said  Coquette,  more  sadly  than  she  had  as 
yet  spoken,  "  there  is  another  thing  I  would  say,  and 
yet  of  what  use  ?  I  would  wish  you  to  give  up  thinking 
me  so  good  and  so  perfect.  Why  do  you  think  I  can 
I  1  ly  or  sing  or  talk  to  you  better  than  any  one  else  ? 
It  is  not  true,  it  is  a  great  misfortune  that  you  think  it  true. 
And  if  it  was  anybody  but  you,  I  would  say  it  was  com- 
pliments only  ;  it  was  flattery  ;  but  I  do  see  in  your 
eyes  what  you  think,  although  you  may  not  say  it.  Do 
you  know  that  you  deceive  yourself  about  me,  and  that 
it  is  a  pain  to  me?  If  I  could  give  you  my  eyes  for  a 
moment,  I  would  take  you  around  the  table,  and  show 
you  who  is  much  prettier  than  I  am,  who  does  sing 
better,  who  has  more  knowledge,  more  sense,  more 
nobleness.  Alas !  you  can  see  nobody  but  me,  and  it 
is  a  misfortune." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that,  Coquette  ? "  he  said, 
with  vague  alarm.  "  Why  do  you  want  me  to  look  at 
people  with  different  eyes  ? " 

"  Because,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice,  but  very  dis- 
tinctly, "  you  do  risk  all  your  happiness  on  a  future  so 
uncertain.  When  I  look  forward  to  a  few  years,  I  am 
afraid,  not  for  myself,  but  for  you.  If  I  could  give  you 
my  eyes,  I  would  lead  you  to  some  one  of  your  friends 
and  bid  you  admire  her,  and  teach  you  what  a  charming 
character  she  has,  and  ask  you  to  pledge  her  to  go  with 
you  all  through  the  time  that  is  to  come.  As  for  me,  I 
am  not  sure  of  myself.  Why  did  they  call  me  Coquette  ? 
When  I  do  think  of  all  that  you  risk  in  giving  your  happ- 
iness to  me  to  keep  for  a  great  many  years — I — I — I 
despair  ! " 

But  the  Whaup  was  not  to  be  cast  down  by  these 
idle  forebodings. 

"  Why,   Coquette,"   said  he,   "  you  are   become  as 


2  7  2  A  DA  UGHTERIOF  HE  TIT. 

morbid  as  Lord  Earlshopc,  and  you  talk  nonsense  be- 
sides, which  he  never  does.  You  want  me  to  believe 
that  anybody  else,  in  this  room  or  any  other  room,  is  to 
be  compared  with  you.  That  is  not  giving  me  new 
eyes,  it  is  blinding  me  with  a  pair  of  spectacles.  And  I 
won't  have  your  eyes,  Coquette,  pretty  as  they  are,  but 
yourself,  eyes  included.  Why,  what  a  small  idiot  you 
must  be  to  imagine  that  the  world  holds  more  than  one 
Coquette." 

His  companion  smiled  ;  perhaps  rather  sadly. 

"  It  is  a  great  change  from  your  first  belief  of  me, 
when  you  did  think  me  dangerous  and  wicked.  But 
perhaps  they  do  still  think  that  of  me  in  Airlie.  What 
would  Leesiebess's  husband  answer  to  those  pretty 
things  you  say  of  me  ;  and  are  you  so  sure  that  all  the 
people  they  are  wrong,  and  you  are  right?  " 

Sure  that  Coquette  was  not  a  wicked  and  dangerous 
person  ?  the  Whaup  had  not  a  word  to  say. 


CHAPTER  XL. 

THE  ROSEBUD 

WHEN  the  ladies  had  gone  from  the  room,  and  the 
men  had  settled  down  to  drink  steadily,  and  talk  the 
after-dinner  sentiment  which  ihey  probably  called  their 
opinions,  the  Whaup  sat  by  nimself,  silent  and  gloomy. 
A  full  glass  of  claret  remained  on  the  table  before  him 
un tasted.  He  stared  at  it  as  if  it  were  some  distant 
object,  and  the  hum  of  the  voices  around  him  sounded 
like  the  murmur  of  the  sea,  as  he  had  listened  to  it  at 
night  up  on  Airlie  moor. 

What  did  Coquette  mean?  Why  did  she  put  away 
into  the  future,  as  if  it  were  something  to  be  dreaded, 
the  happy  time  which  ought  to  have  been  welcomed  by  a 
young  girl  ?  As  the  Whaup  puzzled  over  these  things, 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH.  273 

he  asked  himself  what  hindered  his  going  to  her  now,  in 
the  royal  fashion  of  Lochinvar,  and  marrying  her  out-of- 
hand  before  she  had  time  to  say  no  ? 

Alas  !  Lochinvar  belonged  to  the  upper  classes.  He 
could  support  the  bride  whom  he  stole  away  in  that, 
romantic  manner  ;  and  his  merry  black  eye,  in  bewitching 
the  girl,  and  making  her  ready  to  ride  with  him  over  the 
Borders,  was  not  troubled  by  any  consideration  as  to  how 
the  two  should  be  able  to  live.  The  Whaup  looked  up 
the  table.  There  were  rich  men  there.  There  were 
men  there  who  could  confidently  place  fabulous  figures 
on  checks  ;  and  yet  they  did  not  seem  to  know  what  a 
magic  power  they  possessed.  They  only  talked  feeble 
platitudes  about  foreign  affairs  ;  and  paid  further  atten- 
tion to  that  god  which,  enshrined  in  the  capacious  temple 
underneath  their  waistbelt,  they  had  worshipped  for  many 
years.  Had  they  ever  been  young  ?  the  Whaup  asked 
himself.  Had  they  known  some  fair  creature  who  resem- 
bled, in  some  inferior  fashion,  Coquette  ?  Was  there  at 
that  remote  period  anybody  in  the  world,  in  the  likeness 
of  Coquette,  on  whom  their  wealth  could  shower  little 
delicate  attentions  ?  Had  they  been  able  to  marry  when 
they  chose  ?  Or  were  they  poor  in  their  youth,  when  alone 
money  is  of  value  to  any  one,  only  to  become  rich  in  their 
old  age,  and  think  with  a  sigh  of  the  Coquette  of  long 
ago,  and  console  themselves  with  much  feeding  and  the 
imposing  prominence  of  a  portly  stomach  ? 

Dr.  Menzies,  it  is  true,  had  vaguely  promised  that, 
when  his  studies  were  completed,  the  Whaup  should 
become  his  assistant,  or  even  his  junior  partner.  But  how 
far  away  seemed  that  dim  prospect !  And  why  should 
Coquette,  a  princess  on  whom  all  the  world  ought  to  have 
been  proud  to  wait,  be  bound  down  by  such  ignominious 
conditions  and  chances  ?  The  Whaup  plunged  his  hands 
deep  into  his  empty  pockets,  and  stared  all  the  more 
moodily  at  the  glass. 

Then  suddenly  there  was  a  sound  of  a  piano,  a  bright, 
sharp  prelude  which  he  seemed  to  know.  Presently,  too, 
he  heard  as  through  muffled  curtains  the  distant  voice  of 
Coquette  ;  and  what  was  this  she  was  singing  ?  Why,  that 


274  A  DA  UGHTER  OF  HE  TH. 

brisk  old  ballad  of  his  own  that  she  had  heard  him  sing  in 
his  lodgings.  Where  had  she  got  it  ?  The  Whaup  started 
to  his  feet,  all  the  gloom  gone  from  his  face.  He  stole 
out  of  the  room  ;  in  the  hubbub  of  vinous  political  fervor 
he  was  scarcely  noticed,  and  made  his  way  to  the  draw- 
ing-room door.  This  was  what  he  heard, — 

"  Come  lasses  and  lads,  get  leave  of  your  dads, 

And  away  to  the  maypole  hie, 
For  every  fair  has  a  sweetheart  there, 
And  the  fiddlers  standing  by! 

For  Willy  shall  dance  with  Jane, 
And  Johnny   has  got  his  Joan, 
To  trip  it,  trip  it,  trip  it, "  etc. 

Coquette,  then,  was  in  no  melancholy  mood.  Why, 
what  an  ass  he  had  been,  to  grow  dismal  when  there  still 
remained  to  him  the-  proud  possession  of  that  promise 
of  hers  !  That  was  his  own  song  she  was  singing  brightly 
and  merrily,  and  with  strange  oddities  of  pronunciation. 
She  herself  belonged  to  him  in  a  manner,  and  who  was 
there  that  would  not  envy  him  ?  When  the  song  was 
finished,  the  WThaup  went  into  the  room,  and  wralked  up 
to  the  piano  and  sat  down  by  Coquette,  and  told  her  that 
he  knew  nobody  among  the  men,  and  had  been  forced 
to  come  in  there. 

"And  where  did  you  get  that  song,  Coquette?"  he 
asked, 

"  Monsieur  !  "  observed  Coquette,  "  you  do  talk  as  if 
you  had  the  right  to  be  here,  which  you  have  not.  Do 
you  not  see  that  your  friends,  the  Doctor's  young  ladies, 
did  laugh  when  you  came  in  and  walked  over  to  me  ? " 

"  Where  should  I  go,  Coquette  ? " 

"  I  will  tell  you,"  she  answered,  in  a  low  voice,  as 
she  pretended  to  turn  over  the  music.  "  When  at  the 
dinner  I  did  see  the  youngest  of  the  three  young  ladies 
look  much  at  you.  I  have  spoken  to  her  since  we  came 
here.  She  is  charming,  and  oh  !  very  good,  and  speaks 
kindly  of  you,  and  with  a  little  blush,  which  is  very 
pretty  on  your  Scotch  young  ladies.  And  when  I  asked 
her  if  she  knows  this  song,  she  did  laugh  and  blush  a 
little  again  ;  you  have  been  singing  it  to  her " 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  BETH. 


275 


"  Oh,  Coquette  !  "  he  said, "  what  a  sly  mouse  you  are, 
for  all  your  innocent  eyes,  to  be  watching  everybody  like 
that." 

"  Bien  !  you  go  to  her,  and  sit  down  there,  and  make 
yourself  very  agreeable.  You  do  not  know  how  much 
she  is  a  friend  of  yours." 

The  Whaup  began  to  lose  his  temper. 

"I  won't  be  goaded  into  speaking  to  anybody," said 
he,  "  and  the  first  thing  you  have  to  do,  Miss  Coquette, 
to-morrow  morning,  is  to  come  to  a  distinct  understand- 
ing about  all  the  nonsense  you  have  been  talking  at  dinner. 
What  is  it  all  about,  Coquette  ?  Are  you  proud  ?  Then 
I  will  coax  you  and  flatter  you.  Are  you  frightened  ? 
Then  I  will  laugh  at  you,  Are  you  unreasonable  ?  Then 
-then,  by  Jingo,  I'll  run  a  way  with  you  !  " 

Coquette  laughed  lightly,  and  the  Whaup  became 
aware  that  several  pairs  of  eyes  had  been  drawn  towards 
them. 

"  This  place  is  getting  to  hot  for  me,"  he  said.  "  Must 
I  really  go  back  ?  " 

"  No,"  she  said,  "you  will  stop  and  sing,  something 
bright,  joyful,  happy,  and  you  will  forget  the  melancholy 
things  we  have  been  talking  about.  Have  I  been  unkind 
to  you  ?  You  will  see  I  will  make  it  up,  and  you  shall 
not  sit  gloomy  and  sad  again  at  dinner.  Besides,  it  does 
not  improve  your  good  looks:  you  should  be  more  of 
the  wild  boy  that  I  saw  when  I  did  first  come  to  Arlie." 

"  I  wish  we  were  both  back  at  Arlie,  in  those  old 
times  !  "  said  the  Whaup,  suddenly. 

Coquette  looked  at  him  with  some  surprise.  She  had 
caught  quite  a  new  tone  of  sadness  in  his  voice,  and  his 
eyes  had  grown  wistful  and  clouded. 

So  he,  too,  was  striving  to  pierce  that  unknown 
future,  and  seemed  bewildered  by  its  vagueness  and  its 
gloom.  The  seriousness  of  life  seemed  to  have  told  on 
him  strangely  since  he  left  the  quiet  moorland  village. 
What  had  wrought  the  change  within  the  brief  space  of 
time  that  had  elapsed  since  her  arrival  from  France? 
Was  she  the  cause  of  it  all  ? — she,  who  was  willing  to 
sacrifice  her  own  life  without  a  murmur  for  the  happi- 


276  A  DA  UGHTER  OF  HE  TH. 

ness  of  those  whom  she  loved  !  Already  the  first  months 
of  her  stay  at  Arlie,  despite  the  petty  persecutions  and 
little  trials  she  had  to  endure,  had  become  an  idyllic 
period  towards  which  she  looked  back  with  eyes  filled 
with  infinite  longing. 

All  that  evening  she  was  the  prominent  figure  in 
Lady  Drum's  drawing-room.  When  the  men  came  in 
from  their  port-wine  and  politics  they  found  that  Co- 
quette had  established  herself  as  a  sort  of  princess,  and 
they  only  swelled  the  number  of  those  who  petted  her 
and  waited  upon  her.  Towards  two  only  she  betrayed 
an  open  preference,  and  these  were  the  Whaup  and  the 
youngest  of  Dr.  Menzies'  daughters.  She  so  managed 
that  the  three  of  them  were  generally  close  together, 
engaged  in  all  manner  of  private  talk.  The  fair-haired 
young  girl  had  approached  with  a  certain  diffidence  and 
awe  this  queenly  and  dark  little  woman,  whcm  every- 
body seemed  to  be  talking  about ;  but  Coquette  had  only 
to  smile  a  little,  and  begin  to  talk  a  little  in  her  foreign 
way,  in  order  to  win  over  the  soft-hearted  young  Scotch 
girl.  These  three  appeared,  indeed,  to  form  a  group  in 
the  nebulous  crowd  of  people  who  chatted  or  drank  tea 
or  listened  to  the  music ;  and  before  the  evening  was 
over  Coquette  had  impressed  Miss  Menzies,  by  that 
species  of  esoteric  telegraphy  known  to  women,  with  a 
series  of  notions  which  certainly  neither  had  remotely 
mentioned. 

"  Coquette,"  said  the  Whaup,  when  all  the  people  had 
gone  but  himself,  and  as  he  was  bidding  her  good-bye, 
"  why  did  you  try  to  make  Mary  Menzies  believe  that 
she  and  I  were  much  greater  companions,  and  all  that 
sort  of  thing,  than  you  and  I  ?  You  always  talked  as  if 
you  were  the  third  person  talking  to  us  two." 

"It  is  too  late  for  questions,"  said  Coquette,  with  a 
mingled  air  of  sauciness  and  gentleness.  "  You  must 
go  away  now,  and  do  not  forget  you  go  with  me  to  the 
theatre  to-morrow  evening,  and  if  you  do  send  me  some 
flowers  I  will  put  them  in  m)  hair." 

"  I  wish  you  would  give  me  one  just  now,"  he  said, 
rather  shyly. 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HE  Til.  277 

She  took  the  pale-tinted  tea-rose  out  of  her  bosom 
and  kissed  it  lightly  (for  Sir  Peter  was  just  then  coming 
down  the  hall),  and  gave  it  to  him.  The  rose  was  a 
great  consolation  to  the  Whaup  on  his  homeward  way. 
And  were  not  the  shining  stars  overhead  shining  so 
calmly  and  clearly  and  happily  that  they  seemed  to  re- 
buke his  anxious  forebodings  ? 

"  She  is  as  pure  as  a  star,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  and 
as  beautiful,  and  as  far  away.  The  years  she  talks  of 
seem  to  stretch  on  and  on,  and  I  cannot  see  the  end  of 
them.  The  stars  up  there  are  far  nearer  to  me  than 
Coquette  is." 

Yet  he  held  the  rose  in  his  hand,  and  she  had 
kissed  it. 


CHAPTER  XLI. 

THE  WHAUP  BECOMES  ANXIOUS. 

COQUETTE'S  stay  in  Glasgow  did  not  promise  well 
tor  the  Whaup's  studies.  On  the  very  morning  after 
she  had  given  him  a  rose  to  console  him  on  his  home- 
ward walk  he  was  again  at  Lady  Drum's  house.  He 
looked  very  blank,  however,  on  entering  the  morning- 
room,  to  find  that  venerable  lady  the  &ole  occupant,  and 
he  saw  by  the  shrewd  and  good-natured  smile  on  her 
face  that  she  perceived  his  disappointment. 

"Yes,  she  is  out,"  said  Lady  Drum.  "Is  that  the 
question  ye  would  ask  ?  " 

"  Well,  it  is,  to  tell  you  the  truth,'*  said  the  Whaup. 

"  Could  ye  expect  her  to  remain  in  the  house  on  a 
morning  like  this  ?  If  there  is  a  glint  o'  sunshine  to  be 
seen  anywhere,  she  is  off  and  out  like  a  butterfly  before 
we  have  our  breakfast  over." 

"  Young  ladies  ought  not  to  go  out  alone  like  that," 


2  7  S  A  DA  UGHTER  OF  HE  TIL 

said  the  Whaup,  who  had  suddenly  acquired  serious 
aud  even  gloomy  notions  of  propriety. 

His  elderly  friend  took  him  to  the  window.  Before 
them  lay  the  long  terraces  of  the  park,  the  deep  valley, 
the  trees,  the  river,  and  the  opposite  heights,  all  gleam- 
ing in  a  pallid  and  smoky  sunshine.  And  on  the  ter- 
race underneath  the  window  there  was  a  bench,  and  on 
the  bench  sat,  all  by  herself,  a  young  person,  whose 
downcast  face,  bent  over  a  book,  was  hidden  underneath 
a  white  sunshade  ;  and  there  was  nothing  at  all  by  whict. 
to  distinguish  the  stranger  but  her  faintly  yellow  morn- 
ing dress,  that  shone  palely  in  the  sun.  Yet  you  should 
have  seen  how  swiftly  the  Whaup's  face  cleared.  In 
about  thirty  seconds  he  had  taken  an  unceremonious 
farewell  of  Lady  Drum,  and  hastened  down  into  the 
park. 

"  You  must  not  come  to  see  me  every  day,"  said 
Coquette  ;  "  you  do  give  up  all  your  work." 

"  But  look  here,  Coquette,"  he  remarked,  gravely, 
"isn't  it  the  proper  thing  to  pay  a  visit  of  ceremony 
after  a  dinner-party  ?  " 

"  At  ten  o'clock  in  the  forenoon  ? "  she  said,  with  a 
smile.  "  Four  o'clock  is  the  time  for  such  calls,  and  it 
is  not  to  me  you  pay  them." 

He  made  no  reply ;  but  he  drew  away  the  book 
from  her  lap,  and  quietly  shut  it  and  put  it  in  his  pocket. 
Then  he  said, — 

"  We  are  going  to  have  a  stroll  through  the  Botanic 
Gardens." 

So  she  surrendered  herself,  her  only  protest  being  a 
well-simulated  sigh,  at  which  he  laughed,  and  away 
they  went.  Glasgow  College,  and  all  its  class-rooms, 
might  have  been  in  the  Philippine  Islands  for  anything 
that  the  Whaup  remembered  of  them. 

Many  and  many  a  time  during  that  long  and  devious 
saunter,  which  took  them  a  good  deal  farther  than  the 
Botanic  Gardens,  the  Whaup,  with  that  strange  dissatis- 
faction with  their  present  happiness  which  distinguishes 
lovers  and  fills  the  most  fortunate  period  of  human  Hie 
with  trouble,  would  drag  back  their  aimless  and  wander- 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HE  TIL 


279 


ing  talk  to  the  reasons  Coquette  had  for  being  appre- 
hensive of  the  future.  Why  was  she  disinclined  to 
speak  of  a  possible  limit  to  the  number  of  years  he  had 
yet  to  wait  ?  Why  did  she  almost  pathetically  counsel 
him  to  fix  his  affections  on  some  one  else  ? 

Coquette  replied  gravely,  and  sometimes  a  little 
sadly,  to  these  questions,  but  she  had  not  the  courage 
to  tell  him  the  whole  truth.  There  was  something  so 
touching  in  the  very  trust  that  he  reposed  in  her,  in 
the  frank  and  generous  way  that  he  appealed  to  her,  and 
took  it  for  granted  that  she  would  become  his  wife,  that, 
in  the  meantime,  she  dared  not  tell  him  that  her  heart 
still  wandered  away  to  another  man.  He  did  not  know 
that  his  protestations  of  love  sounded  coldly  in  her  ears, 
and  only  suggested  what  they  would  have  been  had 
they  been  uttered  by  another.  He  thought  it  strange 
that  she  was  glad  to  get  away  from  those  little  confess- 
ions and  wondering  hopes  which  are  the  common  talk  of 
lovers,  and  would  far  rather  have  him  speak  to  her  about 
his  professional  future,  or  even  the  details  of  his  college 
life. 

For  herself,  she  seemed  to  think  it  enough  if  her 
cousin  were  pleased  to  walk  with  her;  and  some  day, 
she  doubted  not,  she  would  yield  to  his  urgent  wishes 
and  become  his  wife.  By  that  time  was  it  not  likely 
that  the  strange  unrest  in  her  heart,  that  vague  longing 
for  the  presence  of  one  whose  name  she  scarcely  ever 
mentioned,  would  have  died  utterly  away  ?  And  in 
the  remote  possibility  of  giving  herself  to  her  cousin,  was 
it  not  her  duty  now  to  try  to  eradicate  that  hapless  love 
which  had  far  more  of  pain  than  of  pleasure  in  it  ?  While 
the  Whaup  was  eagerly  sketching  out  the  life  which  he 
and  she  should  live  together,  Coquette  was  trying  to 
make  up  her  mind  never  again  to  see  Lord  Earlshope. 

But  it  was  a  hard  trial,  A  woman  may  marry  this 
man  or  that  man  ;  he  •  affections  may  shift  and  alter,  but 
she  never  forgets  the  man  she  loved  with  all  the  wonder 
and  idealism  and  devotion  of  a  girl's  early  love.  Co- 
quette asked  herself  whether  she  would  ever  forget  Airlie, 
and  the  stolen  interviews  of  those  spring  mornings,  and 


2  8  o  A  DA  UGHTER  OF  HE  777. 

the  pathetic  farewells  that  the  sea  and  the  sky  and  the 
shining  landscape  alone  knew. 

"  Dreaming  again  ?  "  said  the  Whaup,  gently.  "  I 
suppose  you  don't  know  that  that  is  a  river  you  are 
looking  at  ?  " 

They  were  standing  on  the  small  wooden  bridge  that 
crosses  the  Kelvin,  and  she  was  gazing  into  the  water  as 
if  it  were  a  mirror  on  which  all  the  future  years  were  re- 
flected. 

"  Does  this  river  go  to  the  sea  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Most  rivers  do,"  replied  the  Whaup,  proud,  like  \ 
man,  of  the  superior  scientific  knowledge. 

"  And  perhaps  in  a  day  or  two  it  will  see  Arran." 

"  Why,  you  talk  as  if  you  were  already  anxious  tc 
leave  Glasgow  and  go  back,"  said  the  Whaup.  "  What 
amusement  can  there  be  for  you  there  ?  My  father  is 
buried  in  that  Concordance.  Lady  Drum  is  here. 
Earlshope  is  deserted — by  the  way,  I  wonder  what  has 
become  of  Lord  Earlshope." 

"  Let  us  go,"  said  Coquette,  hastily  ;  and  she  took 
her  arm  off  the  wooden  parapet  of  the  bridge  and  went 
away.  The  Whaup  did  not  perceive  that  his  mention  of 
Lord  Earl sh ope' s  name  had  struck  a  jarring  note. 

So  they  went  leisurely  into  Glasgow  again,  and  all 
the  way  Coquette  skilfully  avoided  conversation  about 
the  matters  which  were  naturally  uppermost  in  her  com- 
panion's mind.  Indeed,  a  discovery  which  she  had  made 
greatly  helped  her  out  of  the  dilemma,  and  enlivened  the 
remainder  of  their  walk.  She  inadvertently  slipped  into 
French  in  making  some  remark,  and  the  Whaup  quickly 
replied  to  her  in  the  same  tongue.  She  was  surprised 
and  delighted  beyond  measure.  She  had  no  idea  of 
his  having  studied  hard  since  he  left  Airlie  to  extend  the 
small  acquaintance  with  the  language  he  had  picked  up 
as  a  boy.  She  saw  well  what  had  urged  him  to  do  so, 
and  she  was  pleased  by  this  occult  compliment.  She  in- 
sisted on  their  talking  nothing  but  French  all  the  way 
home ;  and  the  Whaup,  with  occasional  stammering, 
laughing,  and  blushing,  managed  to  sustain  the  conver- 
sation with  tolerable  ease  and  fluency.  She  corrected 


A  DA  UGHTER  OF  HE  TH.  281 

his  idioms,  very  gently,  it  is  true  ;  and  also  hinted  that 
he  might,  if  he  liked,  adopt  the  familiar  tutoiement  which 
ought  to  exist  between  cousins. 

"  But  I  can't,"  said  the  Whaup.  "  My  conversation 
books  have  taught  me  to  say  vous ;  and  so,  until  I  learn, 
you  must  call  me  tu,  and  I  will  call  you  anything  that 
comes  uppermost." 

This  and  all  that  followed  was  spoken  in  rough-and- 
ready  French,  the  grammar  of  which  was  a  good  deal 
better  than  its  pronunciation  ;  and  the  care  which  the 
Whaup  had  to  bestow  on  his  language  lent  an  unroman- 
tic  and  matter-of-fact  character  to  the  subject  of  their 
talk,  to  Coquette's  great  relief. 

When  they  had  reached  the  house  she  said, — 

"  You  must  come  in  and  make  an  apology  to  Lady 
Drum  for  your  inattention.  Then  you  will  have  a  little 
lunch.  Then  you  will  go  home  and  attend  to  your 
studies  until  the  evening.  Then  you  will  come  here  and 
go  with  us  to  the  theatre  ;  and  you  may  bring  a  bouquet 
for  Lady  Drum,  if  you  choose." 

"  Any  more  commands,  Coquette  ?  "  he  said. 
4<  What,  nothing  more  ?  How  many  lines  of  Greek  must 
I  do  if  I  am  disobedient  ?  " 

"  You  must  not  be  rude  to  me,"  she  remarked, 
"because  that  is  a  trace  of  your  bringing  up  at  Airlie, 
which  you  have  nearly  forgotten.  It  is  a  relic  of  your 
savage  nature.  You  are  much  improved  ;  you  are  al- 
most civilized." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  Whaup,  "  I  saw  a  cart  of  turnips 
go  by  yesterday  quite  unprotected  from  behind,  and  I 
did  not  steal  one.  Hillo!  who  is  that  sitting  with  Lady 
Drum  at  the  window  ?  " 

Coquette  looked  up,  and  did  not  betray  the  least 
emotion,  although  a  sharp  spasm  shot  across  her  heart. 

"  It  is  Lord  Earlshope,  is  it  not  ? "  she  said,  in  a  low 
voice. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  Whaup,  with  a  sudden  coldness  in 
his  tone,  and  returning  at  once  to  his  English.  "  It  is 
rather  singular  he  should  come  here  just  now,  but  that 
is  his  own  affair.  No  one  ever  could  tell  what  he  would 


282  4  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

do  next.     Coquette,  I   don't  think  I  shall  go  into  the 
house  just  now,  you  make  my  excuse  to  Lady  Drum." 

"  Very  well,"'  said  Coquette,  calmly. 

She  held  out  her  hand  to  bid  him  good-bye.  He 
was  surprised.  He  expected  she  would  have  insisted  on 
his  going  into  the  house  ;  and  on  the  contrary,  she 
seemed  rather  relieved  that  he  was  going  away. 

'•  What  is  the  matter,  Coquette  ?  "  he  asked.  "  Are 
you  vexed  because  I  am  going  away  ?  Very  well,  I  will 
go  in  ;  come  along." 

And  with  that  he  went  up  the  steps  ;  but  he  could 
not  tell  by  her  face  whether  or  not  she  had  been  annoyed 
by  his  wishing  to  go.  They  entered  the  house  together. 
Lord  Earlshope  rose  as  they  went  into  the  room,  and 
stepped  forward  to  meet  Coquette,  and  the  Whaup 
watched  the  manner  in  which  she  advanced  to  shake 
hands  with  him.  Why  were  her  eyes  cast  down,  and 
her  face  a  trifle  pale  ?  She  answered  in  an  almost  in 
audible  way  the  kindly  inquiries  which  Lord  Earlshope, 
whose  manner  was  quite  unconstrained,  frank,  and 
courteous,  made  as  to  her  having  enjoyed  her  visit  to 
Glasgow.  The  Whaup  himself,  in  shaking  hands  with 
his  rival,  was  constrained  to  admit  that  there  was  some- 
thing pleasant  and  friendly  in  Lord  Earlshope's  man- 
ner, and  in  the  look  of  his  clear  light-blue  eye,  which 
rather  disarmed  suspicion.  In  a  very  few  minutes  the 
Whaup  had  completely  thawed,  and  was  laughing 
heartily  at  a  letter  sent  by  Mr.  Gillespie,  the  school- 
master, which  Lord  Earlshope  read  aloud  to  Lady 
Drum. 

Nevertheless  as  he  went  to  his  lodgings  he  was  con 
siderably  disquieted.  He  did  not  like  leaving  Lord  Earls- 
hope in  the  company  of  Coquette.  It  seemed  to  him 
an  infringement  of  that  right  of  property  which  he  had 
acquired  by  her  promise.  In  the  old  days  he  was  vague- 
ly jealous,  and  was  inclined  to  be  rudely  suspicious  of 
Coquette's  small  prevarications  ;  but  his  jealousy  and 
his  rudeness  were  readily  dissipated  whenever  he  came 
under  the  influence  of  Lord  Earlshope's  good-nature  or 
of  Coquette's  gentle  solicitude.  Now  he  had  a  greater 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH-  283 

right  to  look  after  her.  Had  he  not  sworn  in  the  olden 
time  to  take  care  of  her,  and  be  her  champion  ?  Alas  ! 
the  Whaup  had  yet  to  learn  that  a  woman  is  best  left  to 
take  care  of  herself  in  such  delicate  matters,  and  that 
no  guard  can  be  placed  on  the  capricious  wanderings  of 
her  affection. 


CHAPTER  XLII. 

AT    THE    THEATRE. 

LORD  EARLSHOPE  and  Lady  Drum  had  been  care- 
lessly chatting  at  the  window  when  the  Whaup  an  I 
Coquette  drew  near.  They  saw  them  walking  up  tli3 
slopes  of  the  park  to  the  house,  and  Lord  Earlshope 
said, — 

u  What  a  handsome  fellow  Tom  Cassilis  has  grown. 
I  have  never  seen  any  young  fellow  alter  so  rapidly." 

"  Has  he  not  ? "  said  Lady  Drum,  with  a  little  touch 
of  pride,  for  she  fancied  that  both  these  young  people 
somehow  belonged  to  her.  "  I  should  like  to  see  them 
married." 

It  is  possible  that  this  artless  exclamation  on  the 
part  of  the  old  lady  was  put  out  as  a  feeler.  She  liked 
Tom  Cassilis  well  enough  ;  but,  being  mortal  and  a  wo- 
man, she  must  have  wondered  sometimes  whether  Co- 
quette might  not  wed  a  lord  ;  especially  a  lord  who  had 
frequently  betrayed  his  admiration  for  her.  But  when 
she  said  this  Lord  Earlshope  betrayed  no  surprise.  He 
merely  said, — 

"  They  will  make  a  handsome  pair  ;  and  many  a  man 
will  envy  young  Cassilis  his  good  fortune." 

Lady  Drum  was  a  trifle  disappointed.  Was  there 
no  mystery  at  all,  then,  connected  with  those  romantic 
episodes  in  the  Highlands  ?  Lord  Earlshope  talked  of 
her  protegee  as  if  she  were  merely  some  ordinary  country 


284  A  DA  UGHTER  OF  HE  TIL 

girl  who  was  about  to  marry  and  become  the  mistress  of 
a  household  ;  whereas  all  the  men  she  had  heard  talk  of 
Coquette  spoke  of  her  as  something  rare  and  wonderful. 
Lady  Drum  was  almost  sorry  that  she  had  asked  him  to 
join  them  at  the  theatre  that  evening  ;  but  she  reflected 
that  if  Lord  Earlshope  were  so  indifferent,  the  peaceful 
progress  of  the  two  cousins  towards  marriage  was  ren- 
dered all  the  more  secure.  She  only  thought  that  Co- 
quette would  have  made  a  beautiful  and  charming  hostess 
to  preside  over  the  hospitalities  of  Earlshope. 

"  Ho,  ho  !  "  said  Lady  Drum,  when  Coquette  came 
down  to  dinner  dressed  for  the  theatre.  "  We  have  made 
our  toilette  something  just  quite  extraordinary.  Mr. 
Thomas  is  a  fortunate  youth  to  have  so  much  done  for 
him." 

"  I  do  not  dress  for  him,  or  for  any  one,"  said  Co- 
quette, with  an  air  of  calm  magnificence. 

"  Certainly  not,  certainly  not !  "  cried  Sir  Peter,  gayly. 
"  Too  much  beauty  and  grace,  and  all  that  is  delightful 
on  earth,  to  be  bestowed  on  any  one  man.  You  will  ap- 
peal to  the  theatre,  my  dear,  to  the  whole  theatre,  and 
there  won't  be  a  look  left  for  the  stage.  And  what  is 
the  hour  at  which  we  go  to  captivate  all  the  young  men 
in  the  place,  and  dazzle  our  rivals  with  the  flash  of  our 
eyes,  when  are  we  going,  going,  going  ?  ha,  ha  !  trollol, 
tfollol,  trollol !  " 

"  I  wish,  Sir  Peter,  you  would  not  sing  at  your  dinner. 
It  is  a  strange  sort  o'  grace,"  observed  Lady  Drum, 
severely. 

"  A  natural  one,  my  lady,  natural.  Don't  the  black- 
birds whistle  among  the  cherry-trees,  and  the  pigs  grunt 
with  delight  over  their  meat  ?  I  woukl  whistle  like  a 
blackbird  if  I  could,  to  amuse  Miss  Coquette,  you  know, 
but  as  it  is " 

"  You  prefer  to  copy  the  pig,"  remarked  Lady  Drum, 
with  scorn. 

"  Too  bad,  isn't  it,  Miss  Coquette  ?  And  I  was  get- 
ting as  gay  as  a  bullfinch  in  thinking  of  the  wild  dissi- 
pation of  accompanying  you  to  the  theatre.  And  there 
will  be  many  a  young  fellow  there,  you  will  see,  who  wil 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETII 


285 


scowl  at  me,  and  wish  he  was  in  my  shoes  ;  but  don't 
you  heed  them,  my  dear.  Old  men  like  myself  are  far 
more  to  be  depended  on.  What  does  your  French  song 
say  ? — 

'  Jeunesse  trop  coquette, 

Ecoutez  la  lecon 
Que  vous  fait  Henriette, 
Et  son  amant  Damon—' 

Do  not  start,  my  lady,  that  is  not  bad  language  ;  it  is  the 
name  of  Henriette's  lover ;  and  don't  I  wish  Henriette, 
or  any  similar  bewitching  young  creature,  would  take  the 
trouble  to  teach  me  a  lesson  !  I'd  sit  as  mum  as  a 
mouse- " 

"  Sir  Peter,"  remarked  Lady  Drum,  "  you  must  have 
dined  elsewhere." 

"  No  such  luck,  my  dear,"  remarked  her  husband, 
cheerfully.  "  I  mean  I  have  not  had  the  chance  of  get- 
ting any  wine,  which  is  your  ungenerous  insinuation. 
But  now,  but  now — we  will  drink  deep  of  heavy  flagons 
until  the  most  ill-favored  ballet-girl  appear  an  angel. 
What,  ho,  there  !  wine,  wine  !  " 

The  fact  was  that  at  the  door  there  were  standing 
two  servants,  who  dared  not  enter  until  their  master  was 
done  with  his  private  theatricals.  When  they  had  come 
in,  and  the  glasses  were  filled,  Sir  Peter,  whose  perform- 
ances as  a  thirsty  soul  fell  far  short  of  his  professions, 
pledged  a  bumper  to  Coquette  and  her  coming  conquests, 
and  wound  up  his  speech  with  a  pretty  and  sentimental 
French  toast,  the  pronunciation  of  which  reminded  Co 
quette  of  the  Whaup's  efforts  in  the  morning. 

This  going  to  the  theatre  was  quite  an  excitement  for 
Coquette,  who  had  not  visited  any  such  place  of  amuse- 
ment since  she  left  France.  Lady  Drum  warned  her 
not  to  say  anything  about  it  in  her  letters  to  Airlie,  or 
the  chances  were  that  the  Minister  would  order  her  re 
call  from  Glasgow  at  once. 

"And  my  cousin,"  said  Coquette,  "has  he  never  been 
to  any  theatre  ? " 

"  That  is  more  than  I  can  say,"  remarked  Lady  Drum 
with  a  smile. 


2S6  'A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

When  at  length  they  drove  down  to  the  big  building, 
and  went  up  the  broad  staircase,  and  got  into  the  corri- 
dor, there  was  an  odor  of  escaped  gas  and  a  confused 
sound  of  music  which  quite  delighted  Coquette,  it  was 
so  like  the  odor  and  the  sound  prevalent  in  the  theatres 
she  had  visited  long  ago  in  France.  And  when  they  got 
into  the  box,  which  was  the  biggest  in  the  theatre,  they 
found  the  Whaup  already  there,  with  two  bouquets  await- 
ing Lady  Drum  and  Coquette.  Lady  Drum,  naturally 
taking  the  place  of  honor,  was  perhaps  a  little  glad  to 
screen  herself  in  her  corner  by  the  curtains  ;  but  Co- 
quette, with  the  calm  air  of  a  princess,  and  with  her 
brilliant  toilette  getting  a  new  splendor  from  the  gleam- 
ing lights  of  the  house,  took  her  seat,  and  lifted  her  bou- 
quet, and  made  the  Whaup  a  pretty  speech  of  thanks 
which  filled  his  heart  with  pleasure,  and  then  turned  her 
attention  to  the  stage. 

"Shall  I  ever  be  able,"  said  the  Whaup  to  himself,  as 
he  looked  wistfully  at  her,  "  to  give  her  pretty  dresses 
like  that,  and  buy  her  pearls  for  her  neck  and  her  hair, 
and  take  her  to  all  the  amusements  ? " 

The  young  gentleman  was  rather  proud,  and  would 
not  even  acknowledge  to  himself  that  Coquette  could  buy 
pearls  for  herself,  and  pay  for  far  more  amusements  than 
she  cared  to  see. 

The  performances  need  not  be  described  in  detail. 
They  consisted,  in  the  first  place,  of  a  romantic  drama  of 
the  good  old  kind,  in  which  a  lot  of  very  pronounced  char- 
acters, whose  virtues  and  vices  they  took  every  oppor- 
tunity of  revealing  to  the  audience,  did  impossible  things 
in  impossible  places,  and  talked  a  language  unfamiliar  to 
any  nation  at  present  inhabiting  the  earth.  This  piece 
was  to  be  followed  by  a  burlesque,  for  which  Sir  Peter 
professed  himself  to  be  impatient. 

"  For,"  said  he,  "  there  is  in  every  burlesque  a  young 
lady  with  a  saucy  face  and  pretty  ankles,  with  whom  you 
can  fall  in  love  for  an  hour  or  two  with  impunity.  And  I 
am  anxious  for  her  appearance,  because  Miss  Coquette 
has  quite  deserted  me,  and  I  am  left  out  in  the  cold." 

The  truth  is,  Coquette  had  discovered  in  her  cousin  a 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH.  287 

quite  astonishing  familiarity  with  this  theatre.  He  was 
acquainted  with  all  its  arrangements,  and  seemed  to  know 
the  name  of  everybody  in  connection  with  it.  Now  how 
had  he  gained  this  knowledge  ? 

"  Oh,  I  do  see  that  the  life  of  the  students  is  not  all 
study,*'  Coquette  remarked,  with  a  gracious  sarcasm. 
"  You  do  sometimes  find  them  singing  '  Come  lasses  and 
lads,'  and  they  do  waste  time  with  tobacco  and  laughing, 
and  even  know  a  good  deal  about  the  actresses  of  the  thea- 
tre. Why  was  none  of  that  in  your  letters  to  Airlie  ?  " 

"  Well,  I'll  tell  you  the  truth,  Coquette,"  said  the 
Whaup,  with  a  laugh  and  a  blush  that  became  his  hand- 
some face  well.  "  I  dare  not  tell  anybody  at  Airlie  I  went 
to  the  theatre  ;  nor  do  I  think  I  should  have  gone  in  any 
case  but  for  a  notion  I  had  that,  somehow  or  other,  you 
must  like  the  theatre.  You  never  told  me  that,  you  know, 
but  I  guessed  it  from, — from, — from " 

"  From  my  manner,  or  my  talk  ?  You  do  think  me 
an  actress,  then  ?  " 

"  No  it  is  not  that  at  all,"  said  the  Whaup.  "  You 
are  too  sincere  and  simple  in  your  ways.  But  somehow 
I  thought  that,  with  your  having  been  brought  up  in  the 
South,  and  accustomed  to  a  Southern  liking  for  enjoy- 
ment and  artistic  things,  and  with  your  sympathy  for 
fine  colors,  and  for  music,  and  all  that,  why,  I  thought, 
Coquette,  you  would  be  sure  to  like  the  theatre  ;  and  so, 
do  you  know,  I  used  to  come  here  very  often,  not  here, 
of  course,  but  away  up  there  to  that  dark  gallery,  and  I 
used  to  sit  and  think  what  the  theatre  would  be  like  when 
Coquette  came  to  see  it." 

He  spoke  quite  shyly ;  for,  indeed,  he  half  fancied  she 
might  laugh  at  these  romantic  dreamings  of  his  when  he 
was  far  away  from  her  in  the  big  city  ;  but  when  he  ven- 
tured to  steal  a  glance  at  her  face,  lo  !  the  dark  eyes  were 
quite  moist.  And  she  pretended  to  look  down  into  the 
circle  of  flowers  he  had  given  her,  and  said  in  a  low 
voice, — 

"  You  have  been  thinking  of  me  very  much  when  I 
was  down  in  Airlie,  and  you  here  by  yourself.  I  do  not 


2  gg  A  DA  UGHTER  OF  HE  TIL 

deserve  it,  but  I  will  show  my  gratitude  to  you  some 
day." 

"  Why,  Coquette,"  he  said,  "  you  need  not  thank  me 
for  it.  Only  to  think  of  you  was  a  pleasure  to  me  ;  the 
only  pleasure  I  had  all  that  long  winter  time." 

Had  Lady  Drum  heard  the  whispered  little  sentences 
which  passed  between  these  two  young  folks,  she  might, 
perhaps  have  thought  that  they  expressed  far  more  gen- 
uine emotion  than  the  bursts  of  rhetoric  in  which,  on  the 
stage,  the  lucky  lover  was  declaring  his  passion  for  the 
plump  and  middle-aged  heroine.  But  they  took  care  she 
should  hear  nothing  of  it. 

Presently  in  came  Lord  Earlshope  with  his  crush-hat 
under  his  arm  ;  and  he,  also,  had  brought  two  bouquets. 
The  Whaup  noticed,  with  a  passing  twinge  of  mortifica- 
tion, that  these  were  far  finer  and  more  delicate  flowers 
than  he  had  been  able  to  buy,  and  he  expected  to  see  his 
own  poor  gifts  immediately  laid  aside.  But  he  did  not 
know  Coquette.  She  thanked  Lord  Earlshope  very  gra- 
ciously for  the  flowers,  and  said  how  fortunate  it  was  he 
had  brought  them. 

"  For  I  do  always  like  to  throw  a  bouquet  to  the 
actress,  after  her  long  evening's  work,  yet  I  was  becom- 
ing sorry  to  give  her  the  flowers  that  my  cousin  did  bring 
me.  But  you  have  brought  one  for  her,  too,  if  I  may 
give  it  to  her  ?  " 

"  Why,  of  course,"  said  Lord  Earlshope,  who  probably 
did  not  put  such  value  on  a  handful  of  flowers  as  did  the 
Whaup  ;  "  and  when  you  wish  to  give  it  to  her,  let  me 
pitch  it  on  the  stage,  or  you  will  certainly  hit  the  man 
at  the  drum/' 

"  But  you  must  keep  them  for  the  young  lady  of 
the  burlesque,"  said  Sir  Peter ;  "  She  is  always  better- 
looking  than  the  heroine  of  the  drama,  isn't  she  ?  Then 
you  have  a  greater  opportunity  of  judging." 

"Why?"  said  Lady  Drum,  with  a  look  of  such 
severity  as  effectually  to  prevent  her  husband  answer- 
ing, instead,  he  turned  away  and  gayly  hummed  some- 
thing about 

"Ecoutez  la  lecon 
Que  vous  fait  Henrictte." 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HE  TIT. 


289 


But  there  was  another  woman  in  the  theatre  who  had 
attracted  their  attention  before  Lord  Earlshope  had  ar- 
rived. She  was  seated  in  the  corner  of  the  box  opposite, 
and,  as  a  rule,  was  hidden  behind  the  curtain.  When 
they  did  get  a  glimpse  of  her,  her  manner  and  appear- 
ance was  so  singular  as  to  attract  a  good  deal  of  atten- 
tion. She  was  of  middle  height,  stout,  with  rather  a 
florid  face,  coal-black  hair,  and  a  wild,  uncertain  looV, 
which  was  seldom  fixed  on  any  object  for  two  minutes 
together.  Oddly  enough,  she  stared  over  at  Coquette 
in  rather  a  peculiar  way,  until  that  young  lady  studi- 
ously kept  her  eyes  on  the  stage,  and  would  not  glance 
over  to  the  occupant  of  the  opposite  box. 

"  Singular-looking  woman,  isn't  she  ?  "  said  Sir  Peter.- 
"  Opium,  eh  !  eh  !  Is  that  opium  that  makes  her  eyes 
so  wild  ?  She  drinks,  I  swear,  and  seems  mad  with 
drink,  eh  !  eh  !  What  do  you  say,  Cassilis  ? " 

"  I  wish  you  would  not  talk  of  that  person,"  said 
Lady  Drum,  and  then  the  conversation  dropped. 

About  a  quarter  of  an  hour  after  Lord  Earlshope 
had  come  into  the  theatre,  this  woman  apparently  re- 
tired from  her  corner  behind  the  curtain,  then  walked 
forward  from  the  back  of  the  box  to  the  front  of  it,  and 
there  stood  at  full  length,  looking  over,  with  an  odd  ex- 
pression of  amusement  on  her  face,  at  the  group,  in  front 
of  Lady  Drum's  box.  This  movement  was  noticed  by 
the  whole  theatre,  and  certainly  it  was  observed  by  Lord 
Earlshope,  for,  during  one  second,  his  eyes  seemed  to 
be  fixed  on  this  woman,  and  then,  still  looking  at  her, 
he  retreated  a  step  or  two  frorr  the  front  of  the  box,  with 
his  face  become  quite  white. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  "  said  Lady  Drum,  anxiously, 
for  he  had  been  speaking  to  her.  "  You  have  become 
very  pale,  are  you  ill  ?  " 

"  Lady  Drum,  I  wish  to  speak  with  you  privately  fora 
moment,"  he  said,  quite  calmly,  but  with  a  singular  con- 
straint of  manner  that  somewhat  alarmed  her. 

She  rose  at  once  and  followed  him  into  the  corridor 
outside.  There  he  stood,  quite  composed,  and  yet  very 
pale. 


2  Q  o  A  DA  UGHTER  OF  HE  TH. 

"  Would  you  mind  taking  Miss  Cassilis  home  at 
once  ?  "  he  said. 

"  Take  her  home  !     Why  ?  " 

"I  cannot  tell  you  why,"  he  said,  with  some  show  of 
anxiety  and  impatience.  "  I  cannot  tell  you  why,  but  I 
wish,  Lady  Drum,  you  would.  I  beg  you,  I  entreat 
you,  to  take  her  away  instantly." 

"  But  why  ?  "  said  the  old  lady,  who  was  at  once  per- 
plexed and  alarmed. 

"  You  saw  that  woman  opposite/'  said  Lord  Earls- 
hope,  rather  abandoning  the  calmness  of  his  demeanor. 
'•  She  will  come  round  here  presently,  I  know  she  will ; 
she  will  go  into  the  box  ;  she  will  insult  Miss  Cassilis ; 
for  Heaven's  sake,  Lady  Drum,  get  her  out  of  the  way 
of  that  woman  !  " 

"  Bless  me  ! "  said  Lady  Drum,  elevating  her  eye- 
brows, "  are  we  a'  to  be  frightened  out  o'  our  wits  by  a 
mad  woman,  and  three  men  with  us  ?  And  if  there 
\vas  no  one  with  us,"  she  added,  drawing  herself  up,  "I 
am  not  afraid  of  the  girl  being  insulted  if  she  is  under 
my  care.  And  what  for  should  any  woman,  mad  as  she 
may  be,  fasten  upon  us  ?  My  certes  !  I  will  see  that 
she  does  not  come  near  the  girl,  or  my  name  is  not 
Margaret  Ainslie." 

For  a  moment  or  two  Lord  Earlshope  stood  irreso- 
lute, with  mortification  and  anxiety  plainly  visible  on 
his  pale  features.  Then  he  said,  suddenly, — 

"  I  must  tell  you  at  once,  Lady  Drum.  I  have  many 
a'time  determined  to  do  so,  but  put  it  off  until  now, 
when  I  can  be  silent  no  longer.  That  woman  in  the 
theatre  just  now,  a  woman  soddened  and  mad  with 
brandy,  is  my  wife  ;  at  least  she  was  my  wife  some  years 
ago.  Goodness  knows,  I  have  no  reason  to  be  afraid 
of  her !  but  one  ;  it  is  for  the  sake  of  Miss  Cassilis  I  beg 
you,  Lady  Drum,  to  take  her  away,  out  of  her  reach  ; 
she  is  a  woman  of  outrageous  passions  ;  a  scene  in  a  pub- 
lic place  will  have  all  the  excitement  of  a  new  sort  of 

drunkenness  fcr  her " 

To  all  these  incoherent  ejaculations,  Lady  Drum  only 
replied, — 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 


291 


"  Your  wife  !  " 

"  This  is  not  a  time  to  blame  me  for  anything,"  he 
said,  hurriedly.  "  I  cannot  give  you  any  explanations 
just  now.  You  don't  know  why  I  should  have  concealed 
my  marriage  with  this  horrible  woman,  but  you  will  not 
blame  me  when  you  hear.  All  I  want  is  to  secure  Miss 
Cassilis's  safety." 

"  That,"  said  Lady  Drum,  with  perfect  quiet,  "is  se- 
cure in  my  keeping.  You  need  not  be  afraid,  Lord 
Earlshope,  she  is  quite  secure  where  she  is." 

"  You  mean  to  keep  her  in  the  theatre  ? " 

"  Most  certainly.'' 

"  Then  I  will  go.  If  I  leave,  her  whim  may  change  ; 
but  I  see  from  her  laughing  to  herself  that  she  means 
mischief.  I  cannot  charge  my  own  wife  at  the  police 
office." 

He  left  the  theatre  there  and  then.  Lady  Drum  re- 
turned to  the  box,  and  made  some  sort  of  apology  foi 
Lord  Earlshope's  absence.  But  she  did  not  see  much 
of  what  was  going  on  upon  the  stage,  for  her  thoughts 
were  busy  with  many  strange  things  that  she  now  rec- 
ollected as  having  been  connected  with  Lord  Earlshope  ; 
and  sometimes  she  turned  from  Coquette's  face  to  glance 
at  the  box  opposite.  Coquette  was  thoroughly  enjoying 
the  piece  ;  the  woman  in  the  box  opposite  her  remained 
hidden,  and  was  apparently  alone. 


CHAPTER  XLIII 

COQUETTE  IS  TOLD. 

LADY  DRUM  began  to  get  afraid.  Should  she  send 
Coquette  at  once  back  to  Airlie  ?  Her  first  impulse,  on 
hearing  the  disclosures  made  by  Lord  Earlshope  at  the 
theatre,  was  one  of  indignation  and  anger  against  him- 
self, for  having,  as  she  thought,  unnecessarily  acted  a 


292 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HE  TIL 


lie  during  so  many  years,  and  deceived  his  friends.  She 
now  understood  all  the  strange  references  he  had  often 
made  to  married  life  ;  the  half-concealed  and  bitter  irony 
of  his  talk  ;  his  nervous  susceptibility  on  certain  points ; 
his  frequent  appearance  of  weariness,  and  hopelessness, 
as  of  a  man  to  whom  life  was  no  longer  of  any  value. 
She  was  amazed  at  the  morbid  sense  of  shame  which 
made  this  man  so  anxious  to  avoid  the  confession  of  his 
having  made  a  desperate  blunder  in  his  youth.  Why 
had  he  gone  about  under  false  colors  ?  Why  had  he  im- 
posed on  his  friends  ?  Why  had  he  spoken  to  Coquette 
as  a  possible  lover  might  have  spoken  ? 

This  thought  of  Coquette  flashed  upon  Lady  Drum 
as  a  revelation.  She  knew  now  why  the  fact  of  Lord 
Earlshope  6  marriage  had  made  her  angry  ;  and  she  at 
once  did  him  the  justice  of  remembering  that,  so  far  as 
she  knew,  he  had  made  no  pretensions  to  be  the  lover  of 
Coquette.  That  had  been  Lady  Drum's  secret  hope : 
he  could  not  be  blamed  for  it. 

But,  at  the  same  time,  there  was  something  about  the 
relations  between  Lord  Earlshope  and  Coquette  which 
she  did  not  wholly  understand  ;  and  as  she  felt  herself 
peculiarly  responsible  for  that  young  lady,  she  began  to 
ask  herself  if  she  had  not  better  make  sure  by  sending 
Coquette  home  to  her  uncle.  Lady  Drum  sat  in  a 
corner  of  her  morning-room,  and  looked  down  from  the 
window  on  the  park.  Coquette  was  sitting  there  as 
usual,  for  there  was  sunshine  abroad,  which  she  loved  as 
a  drunkard,  loves  drink,  and  she  was  leisurely  reading  a 
book  under  the  shadow  of  her  sunshade.  How  quiet  and 
happy  she  looked,  buried  away  from  all  consciousness  of 
the  world  around  her  in  that  other  world  of  romance 
that  lay  unfolded  on  her  knee.  Lady  Drum  had  got  to 
love  the  girl  with  a  mother's  tenderness,  and  as  she  now 
looked  down  on  her  she  wondered  what  precautions 
could  be  taken  to  render  the  fair  young  life  inviolate 
from  wrong  and  suffering,  if  that  were  possible. 

First  of  all  she  wrote  a  note  to  Lord  Earlshope,  and 
sent  it  down  to  his  hotel,  asking  him  to  call  on  her  im- 
mediately. She  wished  to  have  further  explanations  be- 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH 


293 


fore  saying  anything  to  Sir  Peter,  or, indeed,  to  any  one 
c.  the  little  circle  that  had  been  formed  at  Airlie.  At 
the  moment  she  was  writing  this  letter  Lord  Earlshope 
was  walking  quickly  up  to  the  place  where  Coquette  sat. 

"  Ah,  it  is  you  !  I  do  wish  much  to  see  you  for  a 
few  moments,"  she  said,  with  something  of  gladness  in 
her  face. 

He  did  not  reply ;  but  sat  down  beside  her,  his  lips 
firm  and  his  brow  clouded.  She  did  not  notice  this 
alteration  from  his  ordinary  demeanor,  but  immediately 
proceeded  to  say,  in  rather  a  low  voice,  and  with  her 
eyes  grown  serious  and  even  anxious, — 

•'  I  have  much  to  say  to  you.  I  have  been  thinking 
.over  all  our  position  with  each  other,  and  I  am  going 
to  ask  you  for  a  favor.  First  of  all  I  will  tell  you  a 
secret." 

Why  did  she  look  constrained,  and  even  agitated  ? 
he  asked  himself.  Had  she  already  heard  from  Lady 
Drnm  ?  Her  fingers  were  working  nervously  with  the 
book  before  her ;  her  breath  seemed  to  go  and  come 
more  quickly,  and  her  voice  was  almost  inaudible. 

"  This  is  what  I  must  tell  you,"  she  said,  with  her 
eyes  fixed  on  the  ground.  "  I  have  promised  to  my 
cousin  to  be  his  wife.  I  did  tell  you  I  should  do  that, 
and  now  it  is  done  and  he  is  glad.  I  am  not  glad,  per- 
haps, not  now,  but  afterwards  it  may  be  different.  And 
so,  as  I  am  to  be  his  wife,  I  do  not  think  it  is  right  I 
should  see  you  any  more  ;  and  I  will  ask  you  to  go  away 
now  altogether,  and  when  we  do  meet,  here,  or  in  Airlie,  it 
will  be  the  same  with  us  as  strangers.  You  will  do  this 
for  my  sake,  will  you  not  ?  It  is  much  to  ask  ;  I  shall 
be  more  sorry  than  you,  perhaps ;  but  how  can  I  see 
you  if  I  am  to  marry  him  ? " 

"  And  so  we  are  to  be  strangers,  Coquette,''  he  said 
quite  calmly.  "  It  is  all  over,  then.  We  have  had  some 
pleasant  dreaming,  but  the  daylight  has  come,  and  the 
work  of  the  world.  When  we  meet  each  other,  as  you 
say,  it  will  be  as  strangers,  as  on  the  first  morning  I 
saw  you  at  Airlie,  driving  up  the  road  in  the  sunlight, 
and  was  glad  to  know  that  }ou  were  going  to  remain  at 


294 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 


the  Manse.  All  that  happened  down  at  Airlie  is  to  be 
forgotten ;  and  you  and  I  are  just  like  two  people  pass- 
ing each  other  in  the  street,  and  not  expecting,  perhaps, 
ever  to  meet  again.  Yet  there  are  some  things  which 
neither  you  nor  I  shall  ever  forget" 

"  Ah,  I  know  that,  I  know  that ! "  said  Coquette  al 
most  wildly.  "Do  not  speak  of  that  now.  Sometimes 
I  do  think  I  cannot  do  as  my  cousin  wishes  ;  I  become 
afraid  ;  I  cannot  speak  to  him;  I  begin  to  tremble  when 
I  think  of  all  the  long  years  to  come.  Alas  !  I  have 
sometimes  wondered  whether  I  shall  live  till  then." 

"  Coquette,  what  do  you  mean  ?  "  he  said.  "  Have 
you  resolved  to  make  your  life  miserable  ?  Is  this  how 
you  look  forward  to  marriage,  which  ought  to  be  the 
happiest  event  in  a  woman's  life  and  the  seal  of  all  the 
happiness  to  come  after  ?  What  have  you  done,  Co- 
quette?" 

"  I  have  done  what  I  ought  to  do,"  she  said,  "and 
it  is  only  at  moments  that  I  do  fear  of  it.  My  cousin 
is  very  good  ;  he  is  very  fond  of  me ;  he  will  break  his 
heart  if  I  do  not  marry  him.  And  I  do  like  him  very 
well,  too.  Perhaps,  in  some  years,  I  shall  have  forgotten 
a  great  deal  of  all  that  is  past  now,  and  shall  have  come 
to  be  very  fond  of  him,  too  ;  and  it  will  be  a  pleasure  to 
me  to  become  his  wife.  You  must  not  be  sorry  for  me. 
You  must  not  think  it  is  a  sacrifice,  or  anything  like 
that.  When  I  am  afraid  now ;  when  I  am  sad  too,  so 
that  I  wish  I  could  go  away  to  France,  and  not  see  any 
more  of  this  country,  it  is  only  when  I  do  think  of  Airlie, 
you  know,  and  of — of " 

She  never  finished  the  sentence,  because  her  lips 
were  beginning  to  quiver.  And  for  a  moment,  too,  his 
look  had  grown  absent,  as  if  he  were  calling  up  mem- 
ories of  the  days  of  their  meeting  on  the  moor ;  meetings 
which  were  but  recent,  and  yet  which  now  seemed  buried 
far  away  in  the  white  mists  of  the  past.  All  at  once  he 
seemed  to  rouse  himself,  and  said,  with  some  abrupt- 
ness,— 

"  Coquette,  you  do  not  blame  me  for  being  unable  to 
help  you  in  your  distress.  I  am  going  to  tell  you  why 


A  DA  UG  *ITER  OF  HE  TIL  295 

I  cannot.  I  am  going  to  tell  you  what  will  render  it 
unnecessary  for  me  to  promise  not  to  see  you  again  ; 
for  you  will  hate  the  sight  of  me,  and  consider  me  not 
fit  to  be  spoken  to  by  any  honest  manor  woman.  Many 
and  many  a  time  have  I  determined  to  tell  you  ;  and 
yet  it  seemed  so  hard  that  I  should  make  you  my  enemy, 
that  you  should  go  away  only  with  contempt  for  me " 

She  interrupted  him  quickly,  and  with  some  alarm 
on  her  face,— 

"  Ah,  I  know,"  she  said.  "  You  will  tell  me  some- 
thing you  have  done  ;  why  ?  What  is  the  use  of  that 
now  ?  I  do  not  wish  to  hear  it.  I  wish  to  think  of  you 
always  as  I  think  now  ;  and  when  I  look  back  at  our 
last  meeting  in  Glasgow,  you  sitting  there,  I  here,  and 
bidding  good-bye  to  all  that  time  which  began  down  in 
Airlie,  I  shall  have  pleasure  of  it,  even  if  I  cry  about  it. 
Why  you  tell  me  this  thing?  What  is  the  use  ?  Is  it 
wise  to  do  it  ?  I  have  seen  you  often  about  to  tell  me 
a  secret.  I  have  seen  you  disturbed  and  anxious  ;  and 
sometimes  I  have  wondered,  too,  and  wished  to  know. 
But  then  I  did  think  there  was  enough  trouble  in  the 
world  without  adding  this  ;  and  I  hoped  you  would  remain 
to  me  always  as  you  were  then,  when  I  did  first  begin 
to  know  you." 

"  Why,  Coquette/'  he  said,  with  a  strange,  half-ten- 
der look  of  admiration,  "your  generosity  shames  me  all 
the  more,  and  shows  me  what  a  horribly  selfish  wretch 
I  have  been.  You  don't  half  seem  to  know  how  good 
you  are." 

His  voice  dropped  a  little  here,  as  there  was  some 
one  coming  along  the  road.  Lord  Earlshope  and  Co- 
quette both  sat  silent,  and  did  not  look  up  until  the  stran- 
ger passed. 

"  Coquette,"  he  said,  suddenly,  with  a  great  effort, 
"  I  must  tell  you  now  all  the  story  of  my  shame  and  dis- 
grace. The  woman  you  saw  at  the  theatre  last  night ; 
that  woman  I  married  when  I  was  a  mere  boy.  I  have 
not  seen  her  for  years.  I  was  almost  beginning  to  for- 
get that  this  horrible  weight  and  blight  hung  over  my 


29g  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HE  Til. 

life,  but  how  can    I  explain  to  you  without   telling  you 
who  and  what  she  is,  and  how  can  I  tell  you  that  story ! " 

He  was  watching  every  line  of  her  face,  with  an  an- 
xious sadness,  to  gather  what  her  first  impulse  would  be. 
And  yet  he  felt  that  in  uttering  these  words  he  had  for- 
ever disgraced  himself  in  her  eyes,  and  deserved  only  to 
be  thrust  away  from  her  with  horror  and  shame.  Indeed, 
he  waited  to  hear  her  own  lips  pronounce  his  own  con- 
demnation and  decree  his  banishment. 

Coquette  looked  up,  regarded  him  steadily,  and  held 
out  her  hand,  and  said, — 

"  I  know  it  all  now,  and  am  very  sorry  for  you." 

"  But  don't  you  remember  all  that  I  have  done,  Co- 
quette ?  "  with  wonder  in  his  look.  "  I  am  not  fit  to 
take  your  hand.  But  if  you  would  only  listen  to  me  for 
a  moment,  that  is  all  I  ask.  Will  you  sit  down,  Coquette  ? 
I  cannot  excuse  myself,  but  I  want  to  tell  you  some- 
thing." 

"  You  have  had  a  sad  life,"  said  Coquette,  calmly. 
"  I  do  now  know  the  reason  of  many  things,  and  I  can 
not  be  angry.  It  is  no  use  to  be  angry  now,  when  we 
are  going  away  from  each  other." 

"  You  saw  that  woman,"  he  said,  sinking  down  on  the 
seat  with  an  expression  of  the  most  utter  and  -hopeless 
despair.  "  I  married  her  when  I  was  a  lad  fresh  from 
college.  I  met  her  in  Paris  ;  I  was  travelling ;  she,  too, 
was  going  about  with  her  father,  who  called  himself  an 
officer.  I  followed  hei  from  town  to  town,  and  in  three 
months  I  was  married.  Married  !  chained  to  a  wild 
beast  rather.  When  I  got  to  know  the  hideous  habits 
of  the  woman  to  whom  I  was  indissolubly  linked,  suicide 
was  my  first  thought.  What  other  refuge  had  I  from 
a  state  of  things  that  was  worse  than  anything  death 
could  bring  on  me  ?  The  law  cannot  step  in  between 
her  and  me.  Brutal  and  debased  as  she  is,  she  has  far 
too  good  a  notion  of  the  advantages  of  a  tolerable  income 
to  risk  it  by  doing  anything  on  which  I  could  claim  a 
divorce.  Ignorant  and  passionate  she  is,  but  she  is 
not  a  fool  in  money  matters  ;  and  so  there  was  nothing 
for  it  but  to  buy  up  her  absence  by  paying  any  price  for 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HE  TIT.  297 

it.  I  Discovered  what  sort  of  woman  she  was  before  we 
ever  returned  to  England ;  and  when  I  came  back  here, 
I  came  alone.  I  dreaded  the  exposure  of  the  blunder  I  had 
committed,  partly  on  my  own  account,  but  chiefly  on  ac- 
count of  the  disgrace  I  had  brought  on  my  family.  How 
could  I  introduce  a  drunken  and  insolent  woman  to  my 
friends,  and  have  them  insulted  by  her  open  defiances  of 
decency  ?  Year  after  year  I  lived  down  there  at  Earlshope, 
hearing  only  of  her  wild  escapades  from  a  distance.  I 
exacted  from  her,  as  a  condition  of  giving  her  more  than 
the  half  of  my  income,  a  promise  to  drop  my  name  ;  and 
then  she  assumed  one  with  which  the  London  magis- 
trates are  familiar.  The  stories  about  her  came  to  me 
down  at  Earkhope,  until  I  dared  scarcely  open  a  news 
paper ;  and  I  grew  to  hate  the  very  sight  of  a  woman, 
as  being  related  to  the  devil  who  had  ruined  my  life. 
And  then  you  came  to  Airlie." 

He  paused  for  a  moment.  She  had  never  before 
seen  him  so  moved. 

"  I  looked  in  your  pure  and  young  face,  and  I  thought 
the  world  seemed  to  grow  more  wholesome  and  sweet. 
I  began  to  believe  that  there  were  tender  and  true-hearted 
women  in  the  world;  and  sometimes  I  thought  what  I 
might  have  been  too,  but  for  that  irremediable  blunder. 
Fancy  some  sinner  in  hell,  who  is  tortured  by  remorse 
over  the  sins  and  lost  opportunities  of  his  life,  and  there 
comes  to  him  a  bunch  of  pale  violets,  sweet  with  the 
fragrant  memories  of  his  youth,  when  the  world  was 
young  and  fair  to  him,  and  he  believed  in  the  girl  who 
was  walking  with  him,  and  in  the  heaven  over  his  head.0 

"  Ah,  do  not  talk  like  that !  "  she  said.  "  It  is  more 
terrible  than  all  you  have  told  me." 

"  You  do  not  know  the  condition  into  which  I  had 
sunk.  To  you  I  was  a  mere  idler,  easy  tempered,  who 
walked  about  the  country  and  amused  himself  indolent- 
ly. To  myself  I  was  a  sepulchre,  filled  with  the  dead 
bones  and  dust  of  buried  hopes  and  beliefs.  What 
had  I  to  live  for  ?  When  I  went  about  and  saw 
other  men  enjoying  the  comforts  of  happy  domestic 
relations,  men  who  had  a  home,  and  a  constant  coin- 


29S  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

panion  and  confidante  to  share  their  holiday  excur- 
sions or  their  quiet  summer  evenings,  my  own  b'Jitude 
and  wretchedness  were  all  the  more  forcibly  thrust 
on  me.  I  shut  myself  up  in  that  house  at  Airlie.  It 
was  enough  if  the  days  passed,  and  left  me  in  the  en- 
joyments of  hunger  and  thirst.  Goodness  knows,  I  did 
not  complain  much,  or  seek  to  revenge  myself  on  society 
for  my  own  mistake.  If  my  blunder,  according  to  the 
existing  state  of  the  law,  demanded  so  much  punishment, 
I  was  willing  to  surfer  if.  During  these  solitary  days  I 
used  to  study  myself  as  if  there  were  another  being  be- 
side me,  and  watch  how  the  last  remnants  of  belief  in 
anything  were  being  gradually  worn  away,  bit  by  bit,  by 
the  irritation  of  this  sense  of  wrong.  If  you  had  known 
me  as  I  really  was  when  you  first  saw  me,  you  would 
have  shrunk  away  in  fear.  Do  you  remember  the  morn- 
ing I  got  up  on  the  dog-cart  to  talk  to  you  ? " 

"  Yes,"  said  Coquette,  in  a  low  voice. 

"  For  a  few  moments  I  forgot  myself.  When  7 
left  you  at  the  Manse,  I  discovered  to  my  intense  as- 
tonishment that  I  was  quite  cheerful ;  that  the  world 
seemed  ever  so  much  brighter ;  and  that  Airlie  Moor 
looked  well  in  the  sunlight.  Then  I  thought  of  your 
coming  in  among  those  gloomy  Cameronians,  and  whether 
your  light  and  happy  Southern  nature,  which  I  saw 
even  then,  would  conquer  the  prejudice  and  suspicion 
around  you.  It  was  a  problem  that  interested  me  deeply. 
When  I  got  to  know  you  a  little  you  used  to  tell  me, 
inadvertently,  how  things  were  going  on  at  the  Manse, 
and  I  saw  that  the  fight  would  be  a  hard  one,  but  that 
you  would  win  in  the  end.  First  of  all,  you  took  your 
cousin  captive;  that  was  natural.  Then  the  Minister. 
Then  you  won  over  Leezibeth.  There  remains  only 
Andrew  now  ;  for  I  think  you  would  secure  a  large 
majority  in  a  plebiscite  of  the  villagers.  As  for  myself, 
that  I  can  scarcely  talk  about  just  yet.  It  seemed  so 
harmless  a  thing  at  first  for  me  to  see  you,  to  have  the 
comfort  even  of  looking  at  you  from  a  distance  as  you 
sat  in  the  little  church,  or  to  pass  you  on  the  road,  with 
a  look  and  a  smile.  There  was  a  new  life  in  Airlie. 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH.  299 

Sometimes  I  thought  bitterly  of  what  might  have  been 
but  for  the  error  which  had  ruined  me ;  but  that 
thought  disappeared  in  the  actual  enjoyment  of  your 
presence.  Then  I  began  to  play  with  the  danger  that 
would  have  been  more  obvious  to  another  man,  but 
which  I  laughed  at.  For  was  it  possible  that  I  could 
fall  in  love,  like  a  schoolboy,  and  sigh  and  write  verses  ? 
I  began  to  make  experiments  with  myself.  You  know 
the  rest,  Coquette ;  but  you  do  not  know  the  remorse 
that  struck  me  when  I  found  that  my  thoughtlessness 
had  prepared  a  great  misery  for  you." 

"  It  was  no  misery  ;  "  she  said  simply,  "  it  was  a  pleas- 
ure to  me  ;  and  if  it  was  wrong,  which  I  do  not  know,  it 
comes  to  an  end  now.  And  you,  I  am  not  angry  with 
you  for  your  life  has  not  been  a  happy  one,  and  you  did 
not  know  until  we  were  up  in  the  Highlands  that  it  mat- 
tered to  me,  and  then  you  went  away." 

"  Coquette,"  he  said,  "  I  won't  have  you  make  excuses 
for  me.  I  can  make  none  for  myself.  When  I  look 
at  you,  and  think  of  what  I  ought  to  have  done  when  you 
came  to  Airlie — I  should  have  told  you  there  and  then, 
and  guarded  against  every  possibility — I  feel  that  I  am 
an  outcast.  But  who  would  have  thought  it  possible  ?  " 
he  added,  with  his  eyes  grown  distant  and  thoughtful. 
"  I  do  not  know  how  it  has  all  come  about ;  but  you 
and  I  are  sitting  together  here  for  the  last  time  ;  and  we 
are  going  different  ways,  whither,  who  can  tell  ? " 

With  that  Coquette  rose ;  no  trace  of  emotion  vis- 
ble  on  the  calm  face. 

"  Good-bye."  she  said.  "  I  will  hear  of  you  some- 
times through  Lady  Drum." 

"  Good-bye,  Coquette,''  he  said,  taking  her  hand  ; 
and  then  a  strange  expression  came  over  his  face,  and 
he  said, suddenly,  "It  is  madness  and  wickedness  to  say 
it,  but  I  will  say  it.  Coquette,  you  will  never  forget 
that  there  is  a  man  in  the  world  who  loves  you  better 
than  his  own  life ;  who  will  venture  everything  that  re- 
mains to  him  in  this  world  and  the  next  to  do  you  the 
tiniest  service.  Will  you  remember  that,  always  ? 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HE  TIL 

Goodbye,  Coquette;  God  bless  you  for  your  gentleness 
and  your  sweetness  and  your  forgiveness  !  " 

She  turned  from  him  and  walked  away,  and  went  up 
the  steps  towards  the  house,  all  by  herself.  As  she 
passed  through  the  hall  Lady  Drum  met  her,  and  asked 
her  a  question.  The  girl  replied,  quite  calmly,  though 
rather  in  a  low  voice,  and  passed  on.  Lady  Drum  was 
struck  with  the  expression  of  her  face,  which  was  sin- 
gularly colorless  and  immobile,  and  she  looked  after  her 
as  she  went  up  the  stairs.  Was  there  not  something 
unsteady  in  her  gait  ?  The  old  lady  followed  her,  and 
went  to  the  door  of  her  room  and  listened.  A  great 
fear  struck  her  heart,  for  within  there  was  a  sound  of  wild 
weeping  and  sobbing  ;  and  when  she  forthwith  opened 
the  door,  and  hurried  into  the  room,  she  found  Coquette 
sitting  by  the  bedside,  her  face  and  hands  buried  in  the 
clothes,  and  her  slight  frame  trembling  and  convulsed 
with  the  passion  of  her  grief. 

"  What  is  it,  Coquette  ?  What  is  it,  Coquette  ?  "  she 
cried,  in  great  alarm. 

And  she  sat  down  by  the  girl,  and  drew  her  towards 
her  bosom,  as  she  would  have  done  with  her  own  child, 
and  hid  her  face  there.  And  then  Coquette  told  her 
story. 


CHAPTER  XLIV. 
COQUETTE'S  FOREBODINGS. 

SIR  PETER  was  standing  at  the  window,  whistling  ; 
not  for  a  wind,  but  perhaps  for  an  appetite.  His  hands 
were  in  his  pockets,  and  his  hat  rather  on  the  side  of  his 
head.  When  he  heard  the  footsteps  of  his  wife  on  the 
stair  he  removed  his  hat,  she  permitted  no  infringement 
of  the  ordinary  rules  of  courtesy  even  by  her  husband. 

Lady  Drum  came  in  so  hurriedly  that  he  turned  to 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 


301 


see  what  was  the  matter.  Indeed,  she  advanced  upon 
him  with  such  an  air  that  he  rather  drew  back,  and  cer- 
tainly stopped  his  whistling.  It  was  clear  that  the  grave 
and  stately  lady  was  for  once  in  her  life  in  a  towering 
passion. 

"  Are  you  a  man  ?  "  she  said,  with  wrath  in  her  voice. 

"  I  hope  so,"  said  Sir  Peter,  innocently. 

"  Then  you  know  what  you  have  to  do.  You  have  to 
go  at  once  to  Lord  Earlshope,  I  have  scarcely  the  pa- 
tience to  name  him,  and  tell  him  what  every  honest  man 
and  woman  thinks  of  him  ;  what  it  is  he  deserves  for  con- 
duct unworthy  of  an  African  savage." 

"  Good  heavens,  my  lady  !  "  cried  Sir  Peter,  "  do  you 
mean  me  to  murder  the  man  ?  I  am  not  Macbeth,  and 
I  won't  be  goaded  into  murdering  anybody.  What  the 
dickens  is  it  all  about  ?  What  is  the  tragedy  ?  Has  he 
stolen  some  spoons  ?  Whatever  has  turned  you  into  a 
raging  lionness  ? " 

It  was  Coquette  who  answered  him.  She  had  come 
into  the  room  immediately  after  Lady  Drum,  and  she 
now  came  up  and  interposed. 

"  It  is  all  a  mistake,  Sir  Peter,"  she  said,  calmly.  "  I 
did  tell  Lady  Drum  something ;  she  did  not  wait  to  hear 
it  all.  Lord  Earlshope  has  done  nothing  to  be  blamed  ; 
it  is  a  misapprehension,  a  mistake." 

"  Why,  Lord  Earlshope  is  a  married  man !  "  said 
Lady  Drum,  hotly. 

"That  may  be  a  crime,  my  dear,"  said  Sir  Peter, 
mildly,  "  but  it  is  one  that  brings  with  it  its  own  punish- 
ment." 

"  Lady  Drum,"  said  Coquette,  in  an  entreating  voice, 
"  I  do  wish  you  to  come  away.  I  will  explain  it  all  to 
you.  Indeed,  have  I  not  the  right  to  say  you  shall  not 
tell  any  one  what  I  have  told  you  ?  " 

"  Certainly,"  said  Sir  Peter.  "  Who  wants  to  betray 
a  young  lady's  secrets  ?  Take  her  away,  my  dear  child, 
and  pacify  her.  I  am  afraid  to  meddle  with  her." 

Lady  Drum  stood  irresolute.  On  the  one  side  was 
the  beseeching  of  Coquette,  on  the  other  was  the  feather- 
brained husband,  who  apparently  would  not  interest  him- 


302  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

self  in  anything  but  his  lunch  and  his  dinner.  Yet  the 
brave  old  Scotchwoman  had  a  glow  of  indignation  burn- 
ing in  her  cheeks  over  the  wrong  which  she  deemed  to 
have  been  committed  towards  the  girl  intrusted  to  her 
charge.  But  Coquette  put  her  hand  on  her  arm,  and 
gently  led  her  away  from  the  room. 

"  That's  right,"  said  Sir  Peter  to  them,  "  keep  your 
secrets  to  yourselves,  they  are  dangerous  property  to 
lend.  I  don't  want  to  hear  any  mysteries.  I  am  for  an 
easy  life." 

When  they  had  gone,  he  said  to  himself,  drumming 
with  his  fingers  on  the  window-panes, — 

"  Earlshope  married — not  surprised  at  it.  Very 
strange  of  a  young  man  to  live  by  himself  down  in  the 
country.  Made  an  ass  of  himself  when  he  was  a  boy, 
doubtless  ;  ashamed  of  it ;  proud  of  his  family ;  the  woman 
pensioned  off.  But  what  has  all  this  to  do  with  Miss 
Coquette  ?  He  can't  have  been  making  love  to  her,  for 
she  is  going  to  marry  her  cousin.  Well,  no  matter ; 
mysteries  are  best  left  alone,  and  so  are  other  people's 
affairs.  Shall  it  be  sherry,  sherry,  sherry  ?  or  hock, 
hock,  hock?  Hie,  haec,  hoc,  and  a  hujus  hunc  of  ham, 
as  we  used  to  say  at  school.  Very  bad  joke,  very  bad, 
bad,  bad — infernal !  " 

But  Lady  Drum  was  in  no  such  careless  mood,  and 
very  piteously  Coquette  had  to  beg  of  her  not  to  make 
an  exposure  of  the  matter.  Indeed,  the  girl  besought 
her  so  earnestly  that  Lady  Drum  was  driven  into  warm 
language  to  defend  herself,  and  at  last  she  used  the  word 
"  infamous."  Then  Coquette  rose  up,  quite  pale  and 
proud,  and  said, — 

"  I  am  sorry  you  think  that,  Lady  Drum.  Why  ? 
Because  I  must  go  from  your  house  If  he  is  infamous, 
I  am  infamous  too,  for  I  do  not  think  he  has  done  any 
wrong." 

"  Not  done  wrong  I"  cried  the  old  lady.  "  Not  done 
wrong  !  A  married  man  who  trifles  wi1  the  affections 
of  a  young  girl !  " 

"  He  did  not  do  so,"  said  Coquette,  calmly.  "  It 
was  a  misfortune  that  happened  to  us  both,  that  is  all. 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HE  TIL 


3°3 


You  do  not  know  how  he  has  vexed  himself  about 
this  ;  what  he  suffered  before  ;  how  we  had  determined 
not  to  see  each  other  again.  Ah,  you  do  not  un- 
derstand it  at  all,  if  you  think  he  is  to  blame.  He  is 
very  miserable,  that  is  what  I  know,  that  is  enough  for 
me  to  know  ;  and  if  he  has  done  wrong,  I  have  too  ; 
and  yet,  Lady  Drum,  if  my  mamma  were  here,  I  would 
go  down  on  my  knees  before  her,  and  I  would  tell  her 
all  about  it  from  the  first  day  at  Airlie,  and  I  do  know 
she  would  not  be  angry  with  me  for  what  I  have  done." 

Coquette  turned  away  her  head.  Lady  Drum  went 
to  her,  and  drew  her  nearer  to  her,  and  hid  her  head  in 
her  arms. 

"  You  are  very  unfortunate,  my  poor  girl,  for  you  are 
fond  of  him  yet,  are  you  not  ? " 

"  Oh,  Lady  Drum  !  "  she  cried,  wildly,  bursting  into 
tears,  "  I  do  love  him  better  than  everything  in  the 
world,  and  I  cannot  help  it ;  and  now  he  is  gone,  I  shall 
never  see  him  again,  neither  here  nor  at  Airlie,  for  he 
will  not  go  back  to  Airlie ;  and  all  I  wish  now  is  that  I 
might  be  dead,  and  not  wake  up  morning  after  morning 
to  think  of  him  far  away." 

"  Hush,  child  ! ''  said  the  old  woman,  gravely.  "  You 
do  not  know  what  these  wild  words  mean.  You  must 
teach  yourself  not  to  think  of  him.  It  is  a  sin  to  think 
of  him." 

"But  if  I  cannot  help  it,"  sobbed  the  girl.  "If  it 
always  comes  back  to  me,  all  that  happened  at  Airlie, 
and  when  we  were  sailing  in  the  summer-time,  how  can 
I  help  thinking  of  him,  Lady  Drum  ?  It  is  hard  enough 
if  I  do  not  see  him  ;  and  I  would  like  to  see  him  only 
once,  to  say  that  I  am  sorry  for  him,  and  that,  whatever 
people  may  say,  I  know,  and  I  will  remember,  that  he 
was  a  good  man,  and  very  gentle  to  me,  and  very  kind 
to  all  people,  as  you  know,  Lady  Drum." 

"  You  must  think  less  of  him,  and  more  of  yourself, 
my  girl,''  said  the  old  lady,  kissing  her  tenderly.  "  It 
is  a  misfortune  that  has  fallen  over  ye,  as  you  say;  but 
you  are  young  yet,  with  plenty  o'  life  and  spirits  in  ye, 
and  ye  must  determine  to  cure  yourself  of  an  infatua- 


304  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

tion  which  is  dangerous  and  mischievous.  Coquette, 
what  for  do  ye  look  like  that  ?  Are  ye  in  a  trance  ? 
Bestir  yourself,  my  lassie,  listen  !  listen  !  there  is  your 
cousin  come,  and  he  is  talking  to  Sir  Peter  in  the  hall.'' 

"  My  cousin  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

Coquette  shuddered,  and  turned  away  her  head. 

"  I  cannot  see  him.  Tell  him,  Lady  Drum,  I  go 
back  to  Airlie  to-morrow  ,  and  I  will  see  him  when  he 
comes  in  the  autumn,  perhaps." 

"  Why  do  you  say  '  perhaps'  like  that,  Coquette  ?  " 

"  The  autumn  is  a  long  way  off,  is  it  not  ?  Perhaps 
he  will  not  be  able  to  see  me  ;  but  I  shall  be  at  Airlie 
then  ;  and  perhaps  I  shall  know  that  he  has  come  into 
the  churchyard  to  look  for  me." 


CHAPTER  XLV. 

A    LEGEND    OF    EARLSHOPE. 

IT  was  a  wild  night  at  Airlie.  The  sea  could  be 
heard  breaking  with  tremendous  force  all  along  the 
shore,  and  the  wind  that  blew  about  the  moor  brought 
with  it  occasional  heavy  showers  of  rain.  Occasionally, 
too,  there  were  rifts  in  the  clouds,  and  a  white  gleam  of 
moonlight  would  shine  out  and  down  on  the  dark  land- 
scape. The  villagers  kept  themselves  snug  and  warm 
indoors,  and  were  thankful  they  were  not  out  at  sea  on 
such  a  night. 

Earlshope  was  more  sheltered  ;  but  if  the  house  it- 
self was  not  much  shaken  by  the  storm,  its  inmates 
could  hear  the  moaning  of  the  wind  through  the  trees 
in  the  park,  and  the  howling  of  the  gusts  that  tore 
through  the  fir-wood  lying  over  by  the  moor.  The  male 
servants  had  gone  over  to  Greenock  for  some  reason  or 
other  ;  and  as  the  women  folks  did  not  like  to  be  quite 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETIf. 


3<>5 


left  alone,  the  Pensioner  had  consented  to  come  over 
from  Airlie  and  sleep  in  the  house  that  night.  But  first 
of  all,  of  course,  there  was  a  general  supper  in  the  house- 
keeper's room  ;  and  then  the  Pensioner  and  the  house- 
keeper and  the  two  girls  began  to  tell  stories  of  old 
things  that  had  happened  in  the  neighborhood.  By  and  by 
that  duty  almost  entirely  developed  upon  the  Pensioner, 
who  was  known  to  be  skilled  in  legends  ;  and  as  he  had 
also  brought  with  him  his  fiddle,  he  set  himself  down 
generally  to  entertain  the  company,  fortifying  himself 
from  time  to  time  with  a  tumbler  of  whiskey-toddy,  which 
the  housekeeper  carefully  replenished. 

Somehow  or  other,  as  the  night  wore  on,  his  Stories 
and  his  music  assumed  a  more  sombre  and  even  weird 
and  wild  tinge.  Perhaps  the  howling  of  the  wind  in  the 
chimneys,  or  the  more  distant  sound  of  its  wailing 
through  the  big  trees  in  the  park,  lent  an  air  of  melan- 
choly to  the  old  ballads  and  legends  he  recited ;  but  at 
all  events  the  circle  of  listeners  grew  almost  silent,  and 
sat  as  if  spellboumd.  He  no  longer  played  "  There 
grows  a  bonnie  brier-bush  in  our  kailyard,"  but  sang  to 
them,  in  a  quivering  and  yet  plaintive  voice,  the  story 
of  Ellen  of  Strathcoe,  who  was  rowed  away  over  the 
lake  when  the  moon  was  shining  and  the  wind  blow- 
ing lightly,  but  who  never  reached  the  shore.  And  then 
the  old  man  came  nearer  to  his  own  time,  and  told  them 
of  the  awful  stories  of  second  sight  that  he  had  heard 
when  a  boy,  over  among  the  Cowwal  hills ;  of  warnings 
coming  at  the  dead  of  the  night ;  of  voices  heard  in 
churchyards  ;  of  visions  seen  by  persons  in  their  own 
houses,  as  they  sat  alone  in  the  evening.  The  girls 
listened  partly  to  him,  and  partly  to  the  wind  without. 
The  great  house  seemed  to  be  even  more  empty  than 
usual  ;  and  the  creaking  of  a  door  or  the  shaking  of  a 
window  could  be  heard  along  the  corridors  coming  from 
distant  rooms.  Earlshope  was  a  lonely  place  at  that  time 
of  night,  so  far  away  from  all  houses,  and  so  near  to  the 
wild  moor. 

"But  there  is  no  story  about  Earlshope,"  said  one  of 
the  g'fls. 


306  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

She  s-poke  in  a  quite  timid  voice,  as  if  she  were 
listening  to  the  sounds  without. 

"  Wass  you  never  told,  then  o'  sa  auld  man  that  lived 
here  by  himsel',  and  would  ride  about  sa  country  at  night 
and  drink  by  himsel'  in  such  a  fashion  as  no  man  leevin' 
would  pelieve  ? " 

They  did  not  answer  him :  they  only  looked,  their 
eyes  grown  apprehensive. 

"  It  wass  an  auld  Lord  Earlshope,  as  I  hef  peen  told, 
and  he  wass  a  wild  man  for  sa  drink ;  and  no  one  in  all 
sa  countryside  would  go  near  him.  Sa  bairns  would 
flee  from  him  as  he  came  riding  down  sa  road,  and  he 
would  ride  at  them,  and  f  rich  ten  them,  and  gallop  on  \vi' 
shrieks  o' laughin',  just  as  if  he  wass  sa  teefle  himsel'. 
And  he  would  ride  about  sa  country  at  nicht,  and  knock 
at  folk's  doors  or  windows  wi'  his  stick,  and  cry  in  till 
them,  and  then  ride  on  again,  wud  wi'  laughin1  and  singin,' 
just  as  if  he  was  possessed.  And  sare  wass  a  girl  in  Air- 
lie,a  bonnie  young  lassie  she  wass,  as  I  hef  peen  told,  arid 
he  did  sweer  on  a  Bible  wis  sa  most  dreadfu'  sweerin'  he 
would  carry  her  some  nicht  to  Earlshope,  or  else  set  sa 
house  on  fire  over  hersel'  and  her  folk.  And  sa  lassie, 
she  was  so  frichtened  she  would  never  go  outside  sa 
house  ;  and  it  wass  said  she  was  to  go  to  Greenock 
or  Glasgow  into  service,  if  sare  was  service  then,  for  it 
wass  a  long  time  ago." 

The  Pensioner  here  bethought  him  of  his  toddy,  and 
turned  to  his  glass.  During  that  brief  pause  there  was 
a  dead  silence,  only  some  laurel  bushes  rustled  outside 
in  the  wind.  The  Pensioner  cleared  his  throat  and  re- 
sumed his  tale : — 

"  And  Lord  Earlshope,  as  I  hef  peen  told,  did  hear 
sat  she  would  go  away  from  Airlie,  and  he  was  in  a  ^real 
rage,  and  swore  that  he  would  burn  sa  whole  place  down, 
and  her  too,  and  all  her  folk.  But  one  day  it  wass  known 
to  him  sat  her  parents  would  be  over  in  Saltcoats  ;  and 
he  had  men  sare,  and  sa  men  got  hold  of  sa  lassie's  folk, 
and  clapped  them  into  a  big  boat,  and  took  sem  out  to 
sea.  And  sa  lassie  waited  all  sa  afternoon,  and  say  did 
not  come  home  ;  nor  yet  at  nicht,  and  she  was  all  by 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HE  Til.  307 

herscl',  for  she  wass  afraid  to  go  out  and  speer  at  sa 
neighbors.  And  then,  as  I  hef  peen  told,  he  did  go  to 
sa  house  at  sa  dead  o'  nicht,  and  pulled  sa  lassie  out,  and 
took  her  on  sa  horse,  and  rode  over  wi'  her  to  Earlshope 
her  screamin',  him  laughin'  and  sweerin,'  as  was  his  or- 
dinar'.  And  so  wild  wass  he  wis  sa  drink  sat  he  ordered 
all  sa  servants  out  o'  sa  house,  and  say  listened  frae  the 
outside  to  sa  awful  noises  in  sa  rooms,  him  ragin'  and 
sweerin'  and  laughin'  jist  like  sa  teefle.  And  then,  as  I 
hef  peen  told,  a  licht  was  seen,  and  it  grew,  and  flames 
was  in  all  sa  windows,  sa  was,  and  a  roarin'  and  a  noise  and 
a  burnin',  and  when  the  mornin'  wass  come,  Earlshope 
wass  burned  down  to  sa  ground,  and  nothing  could  be 
seen  o'  sa  lassie  or  sa  auld  man  either." 

The  Pensioner  took  another  pull  at  the  tumbler.  It 
was  getting  more  and  more  late. 

"  And  this,  as  I  hef  peen  told,  is  a  new  Earlshope ; 
but  sa  auld  man  hass  never  gone  away  from  sa  place. 
He  is  still  about  here  in  sa  night-time  ;  I  do  not  know 
he  hass  been  seen,  but  many's  and  many's  sa  time  he 
wass  heard  to  laugh  in  among  the  trees  in  the  park, 
and  you  will  hear  sometimes  the  sound  of  sa  horse's 
feet  not  far  from  sa  house.  Trop,  trop  ! — trop,  trop  ! — 
sat  is  it,  licht,  licht,  and  you  will  not  know  whesser  it  is 
close  by  or  far  away,  only  you  will  hear  sa  laughin 
close  by,  as  if  it  was  at  your  ear." 

Suddenly,  at  this  moment,  a  string  of  the  Pensioner's 
fiddle  snapped  with  a  loud  bang,  and  there  was  a  simul- 
taneous shriek  from  the  women.  In  the  strange  pause 
that  followed,  when  they  all  listened  with  a  beating 
heart,  it  seemed  to  them  that  at  some  distance  outside 
there  was  a  measured  beat  on  the  soft  earth,  exactly 
like  the  sound  of  a  horse  riding  up  to  Earlshope.  A 
minute  or  two  more  and  the  suspicion  became  a  cer- 
tainty. 

"  Listen  \  '*  said  one  of  the  girls,  instinctively  seizing 
hold  of  her  neighbor's  arm.  The  wind  was  still  moan- 
ing through  the  firs,  but  in  the  intervals  the  footfalls  of 
the  horse  became  more  and  more  distinct,  and  were 
.obviously  drawing  near  to  the  housn 


308  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETIf. 

"  Mercy  on  us  !  "  exclaimed  the  Housekeeper,  with 
a  scared  face.  "  Wha  can  it  be  at  this  time  o'  nicht  ? '' 

"  It  is  coming  nearer,"  said  another. 

"  Jeannie  !  "  cried  the  third,  in  a  frenzy  of  despera- 
tion, "  dinna  haud  me  by  the  airm,  a  body  canna 
hear  !  " 

The  measured  sounds  drew  nearer,  until  they  ceased, 
apparently,  at  the  very  door.  Then  there  was  the  sharp 
clink  of  the  bell-handle  on  the  stone,  and  far  away 
in  the  hollow  corridor  of  the  kitchen  a  bell  jingled 
hideously.  The  Housekeeper  uttered  a  cry,  and  started 
to  her  feet. 

"  Gude  forgi'e  me,  but  there's  no  a  Bible  near  at 
hand!"  she  exclaimed,  in  an  agony  of  trepidation.  "  Mr. 
Lament,  Mr.  Lamont,  what  is  to  be  done  ?  This  is 
fearfu',  this  is  avvfu'  !  Jeannie,  what  for  do  ye  no  open 
the  door  ? " 

"Open  the  door?"  said  the  girl,  faintly,  with  her 
eyes  staring  out  of  her  head. 

"Ay,  open  the  door!"  said  the  Housekeeper,  sav- 
agely. "  Isn't  it  your  business  ?  " 

"  But,  but,  but — "  stammered  the  girl,  with  her  teeth 
chattering,  <;n — no  to  open  the  door  to  the  deevil !  " 

"  I  will  open  sa  door  !  "  said  the  Pensioner,  proudly. 

When  he  rose  and  went  into  the  dark  hall  the  wo- 
men followed  close  at  his  heels,  all  clinging  to  each 
other.  Another  vigorous  pull  at  the  bell  had  nearly 
brought  them  to  their  knees  ;  but  Neil  Lamont,  groping 
his  way  to  the  door,  began  to  fumble  about  for  the  bolts, 
using  much  florid  and  unnecessary  Gaelic  all  the  while. 
At  last  the  bolts  were  withdrawn,  and  the  door  opened. 
On  the  threshold  stood  the  dusky  figure  of  a  man  ;  be- 
yond him  the  horse  from  which  he  had  dismounted,  and 
which  he  held  by  the  bridle.  The  women  shrank  back 
in  affright,  one  of  them  uttering  a  piercing  scream. 
The  Pensioner  stood  for  a  moment  irresolute,  and  then 
he  advanced  a  step,  and  said,  with  a  fine  assumption  of 
courage, — 

"  Who  sa  teefle  are  you,  and  what  for  you  will  come 


A  DA  UGHTER  OF  HE  TH.  5  09 

to  disturb  a  good  and  a  godly  house  ?     What  is  it  sat 
you  want  ? " 

"  Confound  you,  send  somebody  to  take  my  horse  ! " 
was  the  sharp  reply  he  met  with  from  the  mysterious 
stranger.  "What's  the  matter  ?  Is  there  no  one  about 
the  place  but  a  pack  of  frightened  women  ? " 

"It  is  his  Lordship  himsel'!"  cried  Neil.  "Eh, 
wha  did  expect  to  see  you  sa  nicht  ?  " 

"  Come  and  take  my  horse,  you  fool  !  " 

"  Sat  I  will  ;  but  it  is  no  use  calling  names,"  an- 
swered Neil,  while  the  women  began  to  breathe. 

The  Pensioner  got  the  keys  of  the  stable,  and  led 
off  the  horse,  while  Lord  Earlshope  entered  the  hall, 
called  for  lights,  and  began  to  rub  the  rain  out  of  his 
eyes  and  hair.  The  whole  house  was  presently  in  a 
scurry  to  have  his  Lordship's  wants  attended  to  ;  but 
there  was  considerable  delay,  for  none  of  the  women 
would  go  singly  on  the  shortest  errand.  When,  after 
some  time,  Neil  returned  from  feeding  and  grooming 
the  horse  in  a  rough-and-ready  fashion,  he  infused  some 
little  courage  into  the  household  ;  and  at  length  the 
turmoil  caused  by  the  unexpected  arrival  subsided  some- 
what. Finally,  Lord  Earlshope  called  the  Housekeeper 
into  his  study,  and  said  to  her, — 

"  I  shall  leave  early  to-morrow  morning.  There, 
have  been  no  visitors  at  Earlshope  recently  ? " 

"  No,  your  Lordship." 

"  It  is  very  likely  that  a  woman,  a  Mrs.  Smith  Sey- 
mour she  calls  herself,  will  come  here  to-morrow  and  ask 
to  be  shown  over  the  place.  You  will  on  no  account  al- 
low her  to  come  into  the  house,  you  understand  ? " 

"  But  wha  can  come  here  the  morn  ?  "  said  the  House- 
keeper; "it's  the  Sabbath." 

"This  person  may  drive  here.  In  any  case, you  will 
allow  no  stranger  to  come  into  the  place." 

"  I  wish  the  men-folks  were  coming  back  afore 
Monday,"  said  the  Housekeeper,  who  was  still  a  trifle 
perturbed  by  the  Pensioner's  stories. 

"  Cannot  three  of  you  keep  one  woman  from  coming 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

into  the  house  ?     You  can  lock  the  doors,  you  need  not 
even  talk  to  her." 

Having  received  her  instructions,  the  Housekeeper 
left  ;  and  Lord  Earlshope  went  to  a  writing-desk,  and 
addressed  an  envelope  to  a  firm  of  solicitors  in  London. 
The  words  he  then  wrote  and  enclosed  in  the  envelope 
were  merely  these  :  "  Reserve  payment  to  Mrs.  Smith 
Seymour,  if  demanded.  The  stipulations  have  not  been 
observed.  I  will  call  on  you  in  a  few  days. — Earlshope" 

It  was  close  on  midnight  when  he  entered  the  house, 
and  shortly  after  daybreak  next  morning  he  had  again 
set  out,  telling  no  one  of  his  intentions,  The  servants, 
accustomed  to  his  abrupt  comings  and  goings,  were  not 
surprised  ;  but  none  of  them  forgot  the  manner  in  which 
Lord  Earlshope  had  ridden  up  at  midnight  to  the  house 
in  the  fashion  of  his  notorious  ancestor.  As  for  the 
Housekeeper,  she  was  more  consequential  than  ever,  hav 
ing  been  intrusted  with  a  secret. 


CHAPTER  XLVI. 
THE  MINISTER'S  PUBLISHER. 

ON  the  morning  of  the  day  on  which  Lord  Earls- 
hope paid  his  sudden  visit  to  Airlie,  the  Minister  came 
down  into  the  parlor  of  the  Manse,  where  Leezibeth 
was  placing  the  breakfast  things. 

"  Miss  Cassilis  is  coming  home  to-day,"  he  said. 

"  Atweel,  I'm  glad  to  heart,"  said  Leezibeth,  utter- 
ing that  peculiar  sigh  of  resignation  with  which  most 
elderly  Scotchwomen  receive  good  news. 

The  boys  were  all  rejoiced  to  hear  that  Coquette  was 
coming,  for  they  had  not  forgotten  the  presents  she  had 
promised  them,  and  they  knew  from  of  old  that  she  was 
as  little  likely  to  forget.  This  being  Saturday,  and  a  wev 
Saturday,  too,  they  unamimously  resolved  to  stay  at 


A  DA  UCI1TER  OF  HETII.  3  1 1 

home,  and  play  at  "bools"  in  the  lobby  until  Coquette 
should  arrive  from  Glasgow.  But  the  restraint  of  this 
form  of  amusement  became  insufferable.  Leezibeth's 
remonstrances  about  their  noise,  the  Minister  being 
then  engaged  with  his  sermon,  at  last  drove  them  out 
of  the  house  and  up  into  the  hay-loft,  where  they  had 
unlimited  freedom  of  action  and  voice. 

Leezibeth  delivered  to  Andrew  the  necessary  orders 
about  the  dog-cart  in  a  somewhat  defiant  way,  she  knew 
he  would  not  regard  very  favorably  the  return  of  the 
young  lady.  But  Andrew  kept  most  of  his  grumbling 
to  himself,  and  Leezibeth  only  overheard  the  single 
word  "  Jezebel." 

"  Jezebel ! "  she  cried,  in  a  sudden  flame  of  anger. 
"Wha  is  Jezebel?  Better  Jezebel  than  Shimei  the 
Benjamite,  that  will  be  kenned  forever  only  by  his  ill-tem- 
per and  his  ill-tongue." 

Leezibeth  stood  there,  as  if  daring  him  to  say  another 
word.  Andrew  was  a  prudent  man.  He  began  to  tie 
his  shoe,  and  as  he  stooped  he  only  muttered, — 

"  Hm  !  If  Shimei  had  had  a  woman's  tongue,  David 
micht  hae  suffered  waur.  And  it's  an  ill  time  come  to 
us  if  we  are  a'  to  bend  the  knee  to  this  foreign  woman, 
that  can  scarcely  be  spoken  o'  withoot  offence,  Better 
for  us  a'  if  the  Minister's  brither  had  been  even  like 
Coniah,  the  son  of  Jehoiakim.  As  it  was  said  o'  him, 
4 1  will  cast  thee  out,  and  thy  mother  that  bare  thee, 
into  another  country,  where  ye  were  not  born,  and  there 
shall  ye  die.  But  to  the  land  whereunto  they  desire  to 
return,  thither  shall  they  not  return.'  "  . 

"  Od,  I  wish  Maister  Tammas  could  hear  ye  !  "  said 
Leezibeth,  in  desperation  at  being  out-talked. 

"  Ay,  ay,  Maister  Tammas,  it  was  an  ill  day  for  him 
that  she  came  to  the  Manse.  Mark  my  words,  the  Min- 
ister'll  repent  him  o't  when  he  sees  his  auldest  son  a 
wreck  and  a  ruin,  and  a  byword  i'  the  countryside. 
He'll  turn  aside  from  his  ain  folk,  Leezibeth,  and  marry 
ain  o'  the  daughters  o'  Heth." 

"What  for  no?"  cried  Leezibeth.     "Where  could 


3 !  2  A  DA  UGHTER  OF  HE  TIT. 

he  wale*  out  a  bonnier  lass  ?  I  wish  ye'd  stopyer  yaum- 
meringj  and  look  out  some  plaids  and  rugs  for  the  dog- 
cairt,  for  there's  wind  and  rain  enough  to  last  us  for  the 
rest  o'  the  year/' 

A  very  surly  man  was  Andrew  Bogue  when  he  set 
out  at  mid-day  to  drive  over  to  the  station.  He  was 
enveloped  so  that  only  the  tip  of  his  nose  could  be  seen,, 
for  the  wind  was  dashing  heavy  showers  over  the  moor, 
and  the  sea  was  white  with  the  breaking  of  the  great 
waves.  It  was  not  a  day  to  improve  a  man's  temper  ; 
and  when,  at  last,  Coquette  arrived,  Andrew  was  not 
the  most  pleasant  person  to  bid  her  welcome. 

Coquette  was  alone.  Sir  Peter  wished  to  accompany 
her  on  the  brief  railway  journey ;  but  she  would  not 
Lear  of  it,  as  she  knew  that  the  dog-cart  would  await  her 
arrival.  Coquette  came  out  into  the  little  station.  She 
a.;ked  Andrew  to  get  her  luggage;  and  while  he  was 
gone  she  turned  and  looked  up  to  the  high  country  beyond 
which  Airlie  lay.  How  dismal  it  appeared  !  The  wind 
was  moving  heavy  masses  of  dull  gray  cloud  across  the 
sky,  and  between  her  and  the  gloomy  landscape  hov- 
ered the  mist  of  the  rain,  underneath  which  the  trees 
drooped  and  the  roads  ran  red.  She  could  not  see  the 
sea  ;  but  the  tumbling  plain  of  sombre  waves  would  not 
have  brightened  the  scene  much.  And  so  at  last  she 
took  her  seat  on  the  dog-cart,  and  hid  herself  in  thick 
shawls  and  rugs,  and  so  was  driven  away  through  the 
dripping  and  desolate  country.  It  was  so  different  from 
her  first  coming  thither  ! 

"  They  are  all  well  at  Airlie  ? "  she  said. 

"  Weel  aneuch,"  said  Andrew  ;  and  that  was  all  the 
conversation  which  passed  between  them  on  the  journey. 

They  drew  near  Earlshope,  and  Coquette  saw  the 
entrance  to  the  park,  and  the  great  trees  standing  deso- 
lately in  the  wet.  There  was  the  strip  of  fir-wood,  too, 
near  which  she  had  parted  with  Lord  Earlshope  but  a 
short  time  ago,  on  that  pleasant  summer  morning.  Th" 
place  looked  familiar,  and  yet  unfamiliar.  The  firs 

*  lValet  to  choose — German,  ivahlm. 
\  Yaumer,  to  whine — German,  janimcrn. 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HF.TH. 

were  almost  black  under  the  heavy  rain-clouds,  and 
there  was  no  living  creature  abroad  to  temper  the  loneli- 
ness and  desolation  of  the  moor  which  stretched  beyond. 
It  seemed  to  Coquette  that  she  was  now  coming  back 
to  a  prison,  in  which  she  must  spend  the  rest  of  her 
life.  Hitherto  all  had  been  uncertainty  as  to  her  future, 
and  she  had  surrendered  herself  to  the  new  and  sweet 
experiences  of  the  moment  with  scarcely  a  thought. 
But  now  all  the  past  had  been  shut  up  as  if  it  were  a 
sealed  book,  and  there  remained  to  her — what  ?  Co- 
quette began  to  think  that  she  had  seen  the  best  of  life, 
and  that  she  would  soon  feel  old. 

She  went  into  the  Manse.  It  did  not  look  a  cheer- 
ful place  just  then.  Outside,  rain  and  cold  ;  inside,  the 
wind  had  blown  the  smoke  down  one  of  the  chimneys, 
and  the  atmosphere  of  the  house  was  a  dull  blue.  But 
Leezibeth  came  running  to  meet  her,  and  overwhelmed 
her  with  fussy  kindness  about  her  wet  clothes,  and  hur- 
ried her  upstairs,  and  provided  her  with  warm  slippers, 
and  what  not,  until  Coquette,  who  had  abandoned  her- 
self into  her  hands,  became  aware  that  she  was  ungrate- 
fully silent  about  those  little  attentions. 

"  You  are  very  kind  to  me,  Leesibess,"  she  said. 

"  'Deed  no,  I'm  fair  delighted  to  see  ye  back,  miss," 
said  Leezibeth,  "  for  the  Manse  has  been  like  a  kirkyaird 
since  the  day  ye  left  it.  The  Minister  has  been  shut  up 
in  the  study  frae  mornin'  till  nicht,  the  laddies  at  the 
schule  ;  and  that  catankerous  auld  man  o'  mine  grumbl- 
ing until  a  body's  life  was  like  to  be  worried  out.  And 
I'm  thinking  Glasgow  doesna  agree  wi'  ye,  miss.  Ye 
are  looking  a  wee  bit  worn  and  pale  ;  but  running  about 
the  moor  will  soon  set  ye  up  again." 

"  It  is  not  pleasant  to  go  on  the  moor  now,"  said 
Coquette,  with  a  little  shrug,  as  she  looked  out  of  the 
window  on  the  desolate  prospect. 

"  But  it  canna  be  aye  rainin',  though  it  seems  to  try 
sometimes,"  said  Leezibeth.  "  I  wish  it  had  been  or- 
dained that  we  should  get  nae  mair  weet  than  the  far- 
mers want ;  it  is  just  a  wastry  o'  the  elements  to  hae 
rain  pourm'  down  like  that." 


3*4 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HE  TIT. 


Then  Coquette  began  to  inquire  why  her  uncle  had 
not  come  to  see  her ;  and  Leezibeth  explained  that  the 
Minister  was  fairly  buried  alive  in  his  books  ever  since 
he  had  begun  seriously  to  work  at  his  Concordance.  So 
she  ran  down-stairs,  and  went  into  the  study,  and  went 
up  to  him  and  dutifully  kissed  him. 

The  Minister  looked  up  with  dazed  eyes,  and  a 
pleased  look  came  into  the  sad  gray  face. 

"  You  have  come  back,  my  girl  ?  And  you  are  well  ? 
And  you  have  enjoyed  yourself  in  Glasgow  ?  " 

He  failed  to  notice  the  somewhat  tired  air  that  had 
not  escaped  Leezibeth's  keen  eyes. 

"  You  have  been  hard  at  work,  uncle,  I  can  see  ;  and 
I  am  come  back  to  interrupt  it." 

"  Why  ? "  said  the  Minister,  in  some  alarm. 

"  Because  I  cannot  let  you  kill  yourself  with  your 
books.     When    the  weather    does    become  fine    again, 
you  will  go  out  with  me,  and  leave  your  books  alone  for 
a  time." 

"  I  cannot  do  that,"  he  said,  looking  at  the  sheets  be- 
fore him.  "I  have  purposed  having  this  work  finished 
by  the  end  o'  the  year,  so  that,  if  I  am  spared  and  in 
health,  I  might  even  undertake  another  with  the  incom- 
ing o'  the  new  year.  But  sometimes  I  fear  my  labor 
will  be  thrown  away.  I  am  not  familiar  wi'  the  book- 
sellers and  such  persons  as  undertake  to  bring  out  new 
works.  The  expense  of  it  would  be  far  too  great  for  my 
own  means,  and  yet  I  do  not  know  how  to  recommend  it 
to  the  notice  of  those  whose  business  it  is  to  embark 
money  in  such  enterprises.  I  do  not  desire  any  profit  or 
proceeds  from  the  sale  of  the  work,  but  I  am  not  suffi- 
ciently acquainted  with  such  things  to  know  whether 
that  will  be  an  inducement.  The  cost  of  bringing  out 
the  book  must  be  great ;  Mr.  Gillespie,  the  schoolmaster, 
did  even  mention  so  large  a  sum  as  one  hundred  pounds, 
but  I  am  afraid  not  with  sufficient  caution  or  knowl- 
edge." 

Coquette  knelt  down  beside  the  old  man,  and  took 
his  hand  in  both  of  hers. 


A  DAL  CUTER  OF  HE  TIL 


3*5 


"  Uncle,"  she  said,  "  I  am  going  to  ask  you  for  a 
great  favor." 

"  And  what  is  it  ?  " 

"  No,  you  must  promise  first." 

"  It  is  impossible,  it  is  contrary  to  the  teaching  of 
Scripture  to  promise  what  it  may  be  impossible  to  per- 
form," said  the  Minister,  who  was  perhaps  vaguely  in- 
fluenced by  the  story  of  the  daughter  of  Herodias. 

"  Ah,  well,  it  does  not  matter.  Uncle,  I  want  you 
to  let  me  be  your  publisher." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Catherine  ?  " 

"  Let  me  publish  your  book  for  you.  You  know, 
my  papa  did  leave  me  some  money ;  it  is  useless  to  me  : 
I  do  nothing  with  it  ;  it  becomes  more  and  more  every 
year,  and  does  nothing  for  anybody.  This  would  be  an 
amusement  for  me.  I  will  take  your  book,  uncle  ;  and 
you  shall  have  no  more  of  bother  with  it,  and  I  will  get 
it  printed,  and  my  Cousin  Tom,  he  will  send  me  word 
how  the  people  do  buy  it  in  Glasgow." 

"  But — but — but — "  stammered  the  Minister,  who 
could  scarcely  understand  at  first  this  astounding  pro- 
posal, "  my  child,  this  generosity  you  propose  might 
entail  serious  loss,  which  I  should  feel  more  than  if  it 
were  my  own.  It  is  a  grave  matter,  this  publishing  of  a 
book  ;  it  is  one  that  young  people  cannot  understand,  and 
it  is  not  lightly  to  be  undertaken.  We  will  put 
aside  this  offer  of  yours,  Catherine " 

"No,  uncle,  you  must  not," she  said  gently,  as  she 
rose  and  put  her  hand  on  his  shoulder.  And  then  she 
drooped  her  head  somewhat,  as  if  in  shame,  and  said  to 
him  in  a  low  voice,  quite  close  to  his  ear,  "  If  my  mamma 
were  here,  she  would  do  it  for  you,  uncle,  and  so  you 
must  let  me." 

And  then  she  kissed  him  again,  and  went  away  to 
call  the  boys,  who  were  rather  anxiously  awaiting  that 
summons.  They  were  taken  up  to  her  sitting-room, 
and  thither  also  came  Leezibeth,  partly  to  preserve  order, 
and  partly  to  open  one  of  Coquette's  boxes,  which  was 
placed  on  a  side-table.  Coquette,  by  this  time,  had 
plucked  up  her  spirits  a  little  bit.  The  fire  was  burning 


3 1 6  A  DA  UGHTER  OF  HE  TIL 

more  brightly  in  the  room,  and  Leezibeth  hud  prepared 
some  tea  for  her.  And  so,  when  this  box  was  finally 
opened,  she  proceeded  to  display  its  contents  in  the 
fashion  of  a  small  show-woman,  delivering  a  grave 
lecture  to  the  circle  of  boys,  who  looked  on  as  hungry- 
eyed  as  hawks.  That  decorum  did  not  last  long.  In  a 
very  little  while  there  was  a  turmoil  in  the  room,  and 
boyish  shrieks  of  laughter  over  Coquette's  iionical  jokes 
went  pealing  all  over  the  house.  For  she  had  brought 
this  for  that  cousin,  and  that  for  the  other  one  ;  and 
there  was  a  great  deal  of  blushing,  and  of  confused 
thanks,  and  of  outrageous  merriment  over  the  embarrass- 
ment of  the  others.  Coquette  seemed  to  have  purchased 
an  inexhaustible  store  of  presents  ;  and  what  astonished 
them  more  than  all  was  the  exceeding  appropriateness 
and  exceptional  value  of  those  gifts. 

"  Look  here,  Coquette,"  said  Dugald,  "  wha  telled  ye 
I  lost  that  knife  wi'  the  corkscrew  and  the  gimlet,  and 
the  file  in  it,  for  this  ane  is  jist  the  same  ? " 

"  Look  here,  Dugald,"  remarked  the  young  lady, 
standing  before  him.  "Will  you  please  to  tell  me  how 
you  addressed  me  just  now?" 

4<  Oh,"  said  Dugald,  boldly,  "  the  Whaup  never 
called  ye  anything  else,  and  ye  seemed  well  enough 
pleased." 

Here  there  was  a  good  deal  of  laughter  at  Coquette's 
expense,  for  these  young  gentlemen  had  formed  their 
own  notion  of  the  relation  between  their  brother  and 
Coquette. 

"  Then,"  she  said,  "  when  you  are  as  tall  as  the 
Whaup,  and  as  respectful  to  me  as  he  is,  you  may  call 
me  Coquette  ;  but  not  till  then,  Master  Dugald." 

In  the  midst  of  all  this  confusion  and  noise  a  sudden 
lull  occurred.  Coquette  turned  and  saw  the  tall,  spare 
figure  of  her  uncle  at  the  half-opened  door,  where  he 
had  been  for  some  time  an  unperceivcd  and  amused 
spectator  of  the  proceedings.  One  or  two  of  the  boys 
had  caught  sight  of  him,  and  had  instantly  curbed  their 
wild  merriment.  But  even  although  this  was  Saturday, 
it  was  clear  the  Minister  was  not  in  an  impatient  mood 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  am  si,  317 

with  their  uproar.  On  the  contrary,  he  walked  into  the 
room  and  over  to  Coquette,  and  put  his  hand  affection- 
ately on  her  head. 

"  You  are  a  very  good  girl,  Catherine,"  he  said. 

The  boys  looked  on  this  demonstration  of  kindness 
with  the  utmost  surprise.  Seldom,  indeed,  had  they  seen 
their  father  forget  that  rigor  of  demeanor  which  the 
people  in  many  parts  of  Scotland  retain  as  the  legacy  of 
Puritanical  reticence  in  all  matters  of  the  feelings  and 
emotions.  And  then  the  compliment  he  paid  to  her! 

"  I  hope  you  are  not  being  troubled  by  these  unruly 
boys,  who  have  much  to  learn  in  manners,"  said  the. 
Minister,  with  a  good-natured  gravity.  "  But  Leezibetb 
must  see  to  that ;  and  so,  since  you  are  come  home, 
Catherine,  I  begin  to  think  I  should  like  to  hear  the 
sound  of  music  again.  I  think  the  Manse  has  not  been 
quite  so  cheerful  since  you  )eft,  somehow ;  and  I  have 
missed  you  much  in  the  evenings.  As  for  music,  I  have 
had  occasion  lately  to  notice  how  much  King  David 
was  in  the  habit  of  speaking  about  music,  and  about 
musical  instruments,  and  the  singing  of  the  voice.  Per 
haps  we  in  this  country  have  an  unwarrantable  prejudice 
against  music,  an  exercise  that  we  know  the  chosen  peo- 
ple of  the  Lord  prized  highly." 

It  was  now  Leezibeth's  turn  to  be  astonished.  To 
hear  the  Minister  ask  for  music  on  a  Saturday,  the  day 
of  his  studying  the  sermon  ;  and  to  hear  him  disagree 
with  the  estimation  in  which  that  godless  pastime  was 
hel  1  by  all  decent,  sober-minded,  responsible  folk,  were 
matters  for  deep  reflection  to  her,  and  not  a  little  alarm 
and  pain.  Yet  in  her  secret  heart  she  was  not  sorry 
that  Coquette  sat  down  to  the  piano.  Had  she  dared, 
she  would  have  asked  her  to  sing  one  of  the  old  Scotch 
songs  that  had  first  drawn  her  towards  the  young 
French  girl. 

But  Coquette,  also  remembering  that  it  was  Saturday, 
began  to  play  "  Drumclog,"  and  the  beating  of  the  wind 
and  rain  without  was  soon  lost  in  the  solemn  and  stately 
harmonies  of  that  fine  old  air.  And  then,  as  in  days 
gone  by,  she  played  it  sharply  and  triumphantly,  and  a 


3  !  8  A  DA  UCIITER  OF  HE  TIT, 

thrill  went  through  the  Minister's  heart.  He  drew  his 
chair  nearer  to  the  piano,  and  heard  the  close  of  the 
brief  performance  with  a  sigh. 

'*  Catherine,"  he  said,  rather  absently,  "  was  there 
not  a  song  you  used  to  sing  about  returning  to  your 
home  after  being  away  from  it  for  a  time  ?  It  was  a 
French  song,  I  think  ;  and  yet  the  music  of  it  seemed 
to  be  praiseworthy." 

"  I  do  know  that  song,"  said  Coquette,  in  a  low  voice. 
"  But — but — I  cannot  sing  it  any  more/' 

The  Minister  did  not  notice  the  pain  that  was  visible 
on  her  face. 

"  Yet  perhaps  you  remember  the  music  sufficiently 
to  play  it  on  the  instrument  without  the  help  of  the 
voice,"  said  the  gray-haired  old  man,  apparently  forget- 
ting altogether  that  Leezibeth  and  the  boys  were  in  the 
room. 

Coquette  began  to  play  the  air.  It  was  the  song 
that  told  of  the  happy  return  to  France  after  three  long 
years  of  absence.  She  had  returned  to  her  home,  it  is 
true,  leaving  behind  her  many  wild  and  sad  and  beauti- 
ful memories ;  and  now  that  she  was  back  to  Airlie,  it 
seemed  as  though  the  desolate  wind  and  the  rain  outside 
were  but  typical  of  the  life  that  awaited  her  there. 
Coquette  played  the  air  as  if  she  were  in  a  dream  ;  and, 
at  last,  her  cousin  Dugald,  standing  at  the  end  of  the 
piano,  was  surprised  to  see  her  face  get  more  and  more 
bent  down,  and  her  fingering  of  the  keys  more  and  more 
uncertain. 

"  What  for  are  ye  greetin'  ? ''  he  said  to  her,  gently  ; 
but  Coquette  could  make  no  answer. 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 


CHAPTER  XLVII. 

COQUETTE'S  SONG. 

FOR  a  long  period  Coquette's  life  at  Airlie  was  so  un- 
eventful that  it  may  be  passed  over  with  the  briefest  no- 
tice. It  seemed  to  her  that  she  had  passed  through 
that  season  of  youth  and  springtime  when  romance  and 
the  wild  joys  of  anticipation  ought  to  color  for  a  brief 
time  the  atmosphere  around  a  human  life  as  if  with 
rainbows.  That  was  all  over,  if,  indeed,  it  had  ever  oc- 
curred to  her.  There  was  now  but  the  sad,  gray  monot- 
ony, the  passing  weeks  and  months,  in  this  remote  moor- 
land place,  where  the  people  seemed  hard,  unimpression- 
able, unfriendly.  She  began  to  acquire  notions  of  duty. 
She  began  to  devise  charitable  occupations  for  herself. 
She  even  began  to  study  various  things  which  could 
never  by  any  chance  be  of  use  to  her.  And  she  grew 
almost  to  love  the  slow,  melancholy  droning  by  the  old 
Scotch  folk  of  those  desolating  passages  in  the  Prophets 
which  told  of  woe  and  wrath  and  the  swift  end  of  things, 
or  which,  still  more  appropriately,  dealt  with  the  vanity 
of  life  and  the  shortness  of  men's  days. 

The  Whaup  began  to  talk  of  marriage  ;  she  put  it  far- 
ther and  farther  off.  He  seldom  indeed  came  to  Airlie  ; 
for  Dr.  Menzies  had  been  better  than  his  promise,  ac- 
cepted him  as  junior  partner,  and  was  gradually  intrust- 
ing a  good  deal  of  the  business  to  his  care.  The  Whaup's 
studies  were  far  from  complete  ;  so  that  he  had  plenty  to 
occupy  himself  with,  and  his  visits  to  Airlie  were  few 
and  brief.  On  one  of  these  visits  he  said  to  his 
cousin, — 

'"  Coquette,   you   are   growing  very  like   a   Scotch 
girl." 

"Why?"  she  asked. 

"In  manner  I  mean,  not  in  appearance.     You  are 


32p  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HE  TIT 

not  as  demonstrative  as  you  used  to  be.  You  appear 
more  settled,  prosaic,  matter-of-fact.  You  have  lost  all 
your  old  childish  caprices,  and  you  no  longer  appear  to 
be  so  pleased  with  every  little  thing  that  happens.  You 
are  much  graver  than  you  used  to  be." 

"  Do  you  think  so  ? "  she  said,  absently. 

"  But  when  we  are  married  I  mean  to  take  you  away 
from  this  slow  place,  and  introduce  you  to  lots  of  pleas- 
ant people,  and  brighten  you  up  into  the  old  Coquette." 

"  I  am  very  content  to  be  here,"  she  said,  quietly. 

"Content!  Is  that  all  you  ask  for?  Content!  I 
suppose  a  nun  is  content  with  a  stone  cell  six  feet  square. 
But  you  were  not  intended  to  be  content ;  you  must  be 
delighted  and  you  shall  be  delighted.  Coquette,  you 
never  laugh  now." 

"  And  you,"  she  said,  "  you  are  grown  much  serious 
too." 

"  Oh,  well,"  he  said,  "  I  have  such  a  deal  to  think 
about.  One  has  to  drop  robbing  people's  gardens  some 
day  or  other.'' 

"  I  have  some  things  to  think  about  also,"  she  said, 
"  not  always  to  make  me  laugh." 

"  What  troubles  you  then  Coquette  ? "  he  asked  gen- 
tly. 

"  Oh,  I  cannot  be  asked  questions,  and  questions  al- 
ways," she  said,  with  a  trace  of  fretful  impatience,  which 
was  a  startling  surprise  to  him.  "  I  have  much  to  do 
in  the  village  with  the  children  ;and  the  parents,  they  do 
seem  afraid  of  me." 

The  Whaup  regarded  her  silently,  with  rather  a 
pained  look  in  his  face  ;and  then  she,  looking  up,  seemed 
to  become  aware  that  she  had  spoken  harshly.  She 
put  her  hand  on  his  hand,  and  said, — 

"  You  must  not  be  angry  with  me  Tom.  I  do  often 
find  myself  getting  vexed,  I  do  not  know  why;  and 
I  ask  myself,  if  I  do  stay  long  enough  at  Airlie,  whether 
I  shall  become  like  Leezibeth  and  her  husband." 

"  You  shall  not  stay  long  enough  to  try,"  said  the 
Whaup  promptly. 

Then  he  went  away  up   to  Glasgow,  determined  to 


A  DA  UGHTER  OF  HE  TIL  3  2  I 

work  day  and  night  to  achieve  this  fair  prospect.  Some- 
times he  thought,  when  he  heard  his  fellow-students  tell 
of  their  gay  adventures  with  their  sweethearts,  that  his 
sweethearr,  in  bidding  him  good-by,  had  never  given 
him  one  kiss.  And  each  time  that  he  went  down  to 
Airlie,  Coquette  seemed  to  him  to  be  growing  more  and 
more  like  the  beautiful  and  sad  Madonnas  of  early  Ital- 
ian art,  and  he  scarce  dared  to  think  of  kissing  her. 

So  the  days  went  by,  and  the  slow,  humdrum  life  of 
Airlie  crept  through  the  seasons,  bringing  the  people  a 
little  nearer  to  the  churchyard  up  on  the  moor  that  had 
received  their  fathers  and  their  forefathers.  The  Min- 
ister worked  away  with  a  wistful  earnestness  at  his  Con- 
cordance of  the  Psalms  ,  and  had  the  pride  of  a  young 
author  in  thinking  of  its  becoming  a  real,  bound  book 
with  the  opening  of  the  new  year.  Coquette  went  sys- 
tematically and  gravely  about  her  charitable  works  in 
the  village,  and  took  no  notice  of  the  ill-favor  with  which 
her  efforts  were  regarded.  All  that  summer  and  winter 
Earlshope  remained  empty. 

One  evening,  in  the  beginning  of  the  new  year,  Mr. 
Gillespie,  the  schoolmaster,  came  up  to  the  Manse,  and 
was  admitted  into  the  study,  where  Coquette  and  her 
uncle  sat  together,  busy  with  an  array  of  proof-sheets. 
The  Schoolmaster  had  a  communication  to  make.  Mr. 
Cassilis,  enjoying  the  strange  excitement  and  responsibi- 
lity of  correcting  the  sheets  of  a  work  which  would 
afterwards  bear  his  name,  was  forced  to  beg  the  School- 
master to  be  brief ;  and  he,  thus  goaded,  informed  them, 
after  a  short  preamble,  that  Earlshope  was  to  be  sold. 

The  Schoolmaster  was  pleased  with  the  surprise 
which  his  news  produced.  Indeed,  he  had  come  resolved 
to  watch  the  effect  of  these  tidings  upon  the  Minister's 
niece,  so  that  he  might  satisfy  his  mind  of  her  being  in 
secret  collusion  with  the  young  lord  of  Earlshope  ;  and 
he  now  glared  at  her  through  his  gold  spectacles.  She 
had  started  on  hearing  the  intelligence,  so  that  she  was 
evidently  unacquainted  with  it  ;  and  yet  she  showed  no 
symptoms  oi  regret  over  an  event  which  clearly  beto- 


322  A   DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

kenecl    Lord    Earlshope's    final    withdrawal    from    the 
country. 

"  A  strange,  even  an  unaccountable  thing,  it  may  be 
termed,"  observed  the  Schoolmaster,  "  inasmuch  as  his 
Lordship  was  no  spendthrift,  and  had  more  money  than 
could  satisfy  all  his  wants,  or  necessities,  as  one  might 
say.  Yet  he  has  aye  been  a  singular  young  man,  which 
may  have  been  owing,  or  caused  by,  certain  circum- 
stances or  relationships  of  which  you  have  doubtless 
heard,  Mr.  Cassilis." 

"  I  have  heard  too  much  of  the  vain  talking  of  the 
neighborhood  about  his  Lordship  and  his  affairs,"  said 
the  Minister,  impatiently  turning  to  his  proofs. 

"  I  will  venture  to  say,  Mr.  Cassilis,"  remarked  the 
Schoolmaster,  who  was  somewhat  nettled,  "that  it  is  no 
vain  talking,  as  no  one  has  been  heard  to  deny  that  he  is 
a  married  man." 

"  Dear  me  ! "  said  the  minister,  looking  up.  "  Of  what 
concern  is  it  to  either  you  or  me,  Mr.  Gillespie,  whether 
he  is  a  married  man  or  not  ?  " 

The  Schoolmaster  was  rather  stunned.  He  looked 
at  Coquette.  She  sat  apparently  unimpressionable  and 
still.  He  heaved  a  sigh  and  shook  his  head,  and  then 
he  rose. 

"  It  is  the  duty  o'  a  Christian,  which  I  humbly  hope 
that  I  am,  sir,  no'  to  think  ill  of  his  .neighbors  ;  but  I 
confess,  Mr.  Cassilis,  ye  go  forward  a  length  in  that 
airt,  or  direction,  I  might  term  it  rather,  which  is  sur- 
prising." 

The  Minister  rose  also. 

"  Let  me  see  you  through  the  passage,  Mr,  Gillespie, 
which  is  dark  at  these  times.  I  do  not  claim  for  myself, 
however,  any  especial  charity  in  this  matte  ;  for  I  would 
observe  that  it  is  not  always  to  a  man's  disfavor  to  be- 
lieve him  married." 

As  the  passage  was  in  reality  dark,  the  Schoolmaster 
could  not  tell  whether  there  was  in  the  Minister's  eye  a 
certain  humorous  twinkle  which  he  had  sometimes  ob- 
served there,  and  which,  to  tell  the  truth,  he  did  not 
particularly  like,  for  it  generally  accompanied  a  severe 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  hETIf.  323 

rebuke.  However,  the  Schoolmaster  had  done  his  duty. 
The  Minister  was  warned  ;  and  if  any  of  his  household 
were  led  astray,  the  village  of  Airlie  could  wash  its 
hands  of  the  matter. 

At  last  there  came  people  to  make  Earlshope  ready 
for  the  auctioneer's  hammer  ;  and  then  there  was  a  great 
sale,  and  the  big  house  was  gutted  and  shut  up.  But 
neither  it  nor  the  estate  was  sold,  though  strangers 
came  from  time  to  time  to  look  at  both. 

Once  more  the  quiet    moorland    neighborhood    re- 
turned to  its  quiet  ways  ;  and  Coquette  went  the  round 
of  her  simple  duties,  lessening  day  by  day  the  vague 
prejudice  which  had  somehow  been  stirred  up  against 
her  by  the  rumor,  which  had  found  its  way  down  to 
Airlie,  that  Lord  Earlshope  was  married.     It  was  with 
no  such  intentions,  certainly,  that  she  labored.     It  was 
enough  if  the  days  passed,  and  if  the  Whaup  were  con- 
tent to  cease  writing  for  a  definite  answer  about  that 
marriage  which  was  yet  far  away  in  the  future.     Leezi- 
beth  looked  on  this  new  phase  of  the  girl's  character 
with  an  esteem  and  approval  tempered    by  something 
like  awe.     She  could  not  tell  what  had  taken  away  from 
her  all  the  old  gayety  and  wilfulness  and  carelessness. 
Strangely  enough,  too,  Leezibeth  was  less  her  confidante 
now ;  and  on  the  few  occasions  that  Lady  Drum  came 
over  to  Airlie  the  old  lady  was  surprised  to  find  Coquette 
grown  almost  distant  and  reserved  in  manner.     Indeed, 
the  girl  was  as  much  alone  there  as  if  she  had  been, 
afloat  on  a  raft  at  sea.     All  hope  of  change,  of  excite- 
ment, of  pleasure,  seemed  to  have  left  her.     She  seldom 
opened  the  piano  ;  and,  when  she  did,  "  Drumclog  "  was 
no  longer  a  martial  air,  but  a  plaintive  wail  of  grief. 

Perhaps,  of  all  the  people  around  her,  the  one  that 
noticed  most  of  her  low  spirits  was  the  Whaup's  young 
brother  Dugald,  of  whom  she  had  made  a  sort  of  pet. 
Very  often  she  took  him  with  her  on  her  missions  into 
the  village,  or  her  walks  into  the  country  round.  And 
one  day,  as  they  were  sitting  on  the  moor,  she  said  to 
him, — 


324  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

"  I  suppose  you  never  heard  of  an  old  German  song 
that  is  very  strange  and  sad  ?  I  wonder  if  I  can  re- 
member the  words  and  repeat  them  to  you.  They  are 
something  like  this, — 

'  Three  horsemen  rode  out  to  the  gate  of  the  town  :  Good-bye  ! 
Fine  Sweetheart,  she  looked  from  her  window  down  :  Good-bye 
And  if  ill  fate  such  grief  must  bring, 
Then  reach  me  hither  your  golden  ring  ! 
Good-bye !     Good-'bye  !    Good-bye  I 
Ah,  parting  wounds  so  bitterly ! 

*  And  it  is  Death  that  parts  us  so  :     Good-bye  ! 
Many  a  rose-red  maiden  must  go  :     Good-bye ! 
He  sunders  many  a  man  from  wife  : 
They  knew  how  happy  a  thing  was  life. 
Good-bye  !     Good-bye  !     Good-bye ! 
Ah,  parting  wounds  so  bitterly! 

1  He  steals  the  infant  out  of  its  bed  :     Good  bye  ! 
And  when  shall  I  see  my  nut  brown  maid  ?     Good-bye! 
It  is  not  to-morrow  :  ah,  were  it  to-day ! 
There  are  two  that  I  k'-ow  that  would  be  gay ! 
Good-bye  !     Good-bye  !     Good-bye  ! 
Ah,  parting  wounds  so  bitterly  !  * " 

"  What  does  it  mean  ?"  asked  the  boy. 
"  I  think  it  means,"  said  Coquette,  looking  away  over 
the  moor,  "  that  everybody  in  the  world  is  miserable." 
"  And  are  you  miserable,  too  ?  "  he  asked. 
"  Not  more  than  others,  I  suppose,"  said  Coquette. 


CHAPTER  XLVIII. 

COQUETTE   FORSAKES   HER   FRIENDS. 

THE  dull  gray  atmosphere  that  thus  hung  over  Co- 
quette's life  was  about  to  be  pierced  by  a  lightning-flash. 

Two  years  had  passed  away  in  a  quiet,  monotonous 
fashion,  and  very  little  had  happened  during  that  time  to 
the  people  about  Airlie.  The  Minister,  it  is  true,  had 


A  DA  UGHTER  OF  HE  Til.  325 

published  his  Concordance  of  the  Psalms  ;  and  not  only 
had  he  received  various  friendly  and  congratulatory  letters 
about  it  from  clergymen  standing  high  in  the  estimation 
of  the  world,  but  notice  had  been  taken  of  the  work  in 
the  public  prints,  and  that  of  a  nature  to  fill  the  old  man's 
heart  with  secret  joy.  Coquette  cut  out  those  paragraphs 
which  were  laudatory  (suppressing  ruthlessly  those  which 
were  not),  and  placed  them  in  a  book.  Indeed,  she  man- 
aged the  whole  business  ;  and,  especially  in  the  monetary 
portion  of  it,  insisted  on  keeping  her  negotiations  with 
the  publishers  a  profound  secret. 

"  It  is  something  for  me  to  do,  uncle,"  she  said. 

"  And  you  have  done  it  very  well,  Catherine,"  said 
the  Minister.  "  I  am  fair  surprised  to  see  what  a 
goodly  volume  it  has  turned  out ;  the  smooth  paper,  the 
clear  printing;  it  is  altogether  what  I  would  call  a  pre- 
sentable book." 

The  Minister  would  have  been  less  surprised  had  he 
known  the  reckless  fashion  in  which  Coquette  had  given 
instructions  to  the  publishers,  and  the  amount  of  money 
she  subsequently  and  surreptitiously  and  cheerfully  paid. 

"  There  are  newspapers,"  said  the  Minister,  ruefully, 
"  which  they  tell  me  deal  in  a  light  and  profane  fashion 
wi'  religious  matters.  I  hope  the  editors  will  read  my 
Concordance  carefully  before  writing  of  it  in  their  jour- 
nals." 

"  I  do  not  think  it  is  the  editor  who  writes  about 
books,"  remarked  Coquette.  "  An  editor  of  a  Nantes 
newspaper  did  use  to  come  to  our  house,  and  I  remember 
his  saying  to  my  papa  that  he  gave  books  to  his  writers 
who  could  do  nothing  else  ;  so  you  must  not  be  surprised 
if  they  do  make  mistakes.  As  for  him,  uncle,  I  am  sure 
he  did  not  know  who  wrote  the  Psalms.'* 

"  Very  likely,  very  likely,"  said  the  Minister.  "  But 
the  editors  of  our  newspapers  are  a  different  class  of  men, 
for  they  write  for  a  religious  nation,  and  must  be  ac- 
quainted wi'  such  things.  The  Schoolmaster  thinks  I 
ought  to  write  to  the  editors,  and  beg  them  to  read  the 
books  wi'  care." 

"  I  wouldn't  do  that,  uncle,  if  I  were  you,"  said  Co- 


326  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

quette  ;  and,  somehow  or  other,  the  Minister  had  of  late 
got  into  such  a  habit  of  consulting  and  obeying  Coquette 
that  her  simple  expression  of  opinion  sufficed,  and  he  did 
not  write  to  any  editor, 

At  times  during  that'  long  period,  but  not  often,  the 
Whaup  came  down  to  Airlie,  and  stayed  from  the  Satur- 
day to  the  Monday  morning.  The  anxious  and  troubled 
way  in  which  Coquette  put  aside  any  reference  to  their 
future  marriage  struck  him  painfully  ;  but  for  the  present 
he  was  content  to  be  almost  silent.  There  was  no  use, 
he  reflected,  in  talking  about  this  matter  until  he  could 
definitely  say  to  her,  "  Come,  and  be  my  wife."  He  had 
no  right  to  press  her  to  give  any  more  definite  promise 
than  she  had  already  given,  when  he  himself  was  uncertain 
as  to  time.  But,  even  now,  he  saw  at  no  great  dis- 
ance  ahead  the  fortunate  moment  when  he  could  formally 
claim  Coquette  as  his  bride.  His  place  in  the  business 
of  Dr.  Menzies  had  been  secured  to  him,  and  his  term 
of  public  study  was  coming  to  an  end.  Every  day  that 
he  rose  he  knew  himself  a  day  nearer  to  the  time  when 
he  should  go  down  to  Airlie  and  carry  off  with  him  Co- 
quette to  be  the  wonder  of  all  his  friends  in  Glasgow. 

At  times,  as  he  looked  at  Coquette,  he  felt  rather 
anxious,  and  wished  that  the  days  could  pass  more 
quickly. 

"  I  am  afraid  the  dulness  of  this  place  is  weighing 
very  heavily  on  you,  Coquette,"  he  said  to  her  one  Satur- 
day afternoon  that  he  had  gone  down. 

"  You  do  say  that  often  to  me,"  she  said,  "and  I  find 
you  looking  at  me  as  if  you  were  a  doctor.  Yet  I  am 
not  ill.  It  is  true,  I  think  that  I  am  becoming  Scotch, 
as  you  said  once  long  ago  ;  and  all  your  Scotch  people  at 
Airlie  seem  to  me  sad  and  resigned  in  their  faces.  That 
is  no  harm,  is  it  ?  " 

"  But  why  should  you  be  sad  and  resigned  ? " 

"  I  do  catch  it  as  an  infection  from  the  others,"  she 
said,  with  a  smile. 

Yet  he  was  not  satisfied,  and  he  went  back  to  Glasgow 
more  impatient  than  ever. 

For  he  said  to  himself,  "  once  I  can  go  and  ask  her 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETIL  327 

to  fulfil  her  promise,  there  will  be  a  chance  of  breaking 
this  depressing  calm  that  has  settled  on  her.  I  will  take 
her  away  from  Airlie.  I  will  get  three  months'  holiday, 
and  take  her  down  to  see  the  Loire,  and  than  back  through 
France  to  Marseilles,  and  then  on  to  Italy,  and  then  back 
through  Switzerland.  And  only  to  think  of  Coquette 
being  always  with  me,  and  my  having  to  order  breakfast 
for  her,  and  see  that  the  wine  is  always  quite  sound  and 
good  for  her,  and  see  that  she  is  wrapped  up  against  the 
cold,  and  to  listen  always  to  her  sweet  voice,  and  the 
broken  English,  and  the  little  perplexed  stammer  now 
and  again,  isn't  that  something  to  work  for  !  " 

So  the  time  went  by,  and  Coquette  heard  nothing  of 
Lord  Earlshope,  not  even  the  mention  of  his  name.  But 
one  dull  morning  in  March  she  was  walking  by  herself 
over  the  moor,  and  suddenly  she  heard  on  the  gravel  of 
the  path  in  front  of  her  the  sound  of  a  quick  footstep  that 
she  knew.  Her  heart  ceased  to  beat,  and  for  a  second 
she  felt  faint  and  giddy.  Then,  without  ever  lifting  her 
head,  she  endeavored  to  turn  aside  and  avoid  him. 

"  Won't  you  even  speak  to  me,  Coquette  ?  " 

The  sound  of  his  voice  made  thfe  blood  spring  hotly 
to  her  face  again,  and  recalled  the  wild  beating  of  her 
heart ;  but  still  she  stood  immovable.  And  then  she  said, 
in  a  low  voice, — 

"  Yes,  I  will  speak  to  you  if  you  wish." 

He  came  nearer  to  her,  his  own  face  quite  pale,  and 
said, — 

"  I  am  glad  you  have  nearly  forgotten  me,  Coquette  ; 
I  came  to  see.  I  heard  that  you  looked  very  sad,  and 
went  about  alone  much,  and  were  pale ;  but  I  would 
rather  hear  you  tell  me,  Coquette,  that  it  is  all  a  mistake." 

"  I  have  not  forgotten  anything,"  said  Coquette. 

"  Nothing  ? " 

"  Nothing  at  all." 

"  Coquette,"  he  cried,  coming  quite  close  to  her,"  tell 
me  this,  once  for  all,  have  you  forgotten  nothing  as  I 
have  forgotten  nothing  ?  do  you  love  me  as  if  we  had 
just  parted  yesterday  ?  has  all  this  time  done  nothing  lor 
either  of  us  ? " 


3?3  A  DAUGHTER  OF  IIETIf. 

She  looked  around,  wildly,  as  if  seeking  some  means 
of  escape  ;  and  then,  with  a  sort  of  shudder,  she  found 
his  arms  around  her  as  in  the  olden  time,  and  she  was 
saying,  almost  incoherently, — 

"  Oh,  my  darling,  my  darling,  I  love  you  more  than 
ever,  night  and  day  I  have  never  ceased  to  think  of  you, 
and  now — and  now  my  only  wish  is  to  die,  here,  with 
your  arms  around  me  ! " 

"  Listen,  Coquette,  listen  !  "  he  said.  "  Do  you  know 
what  I  have  done  ?  A  ship  passes  here  in  the  morning  for 
America ;  I  have  taken  two  berths  in  it,  for  you  and  for 
me  ;  to  morrow  we  shall  be  sailing  away  to  a  new  world, 
and  leaving  all  those  troubles  behind  us.  Do  you  hear 
me  ;  Coquette  ? " 

The  girl  shuddered  violently  ;  her  face  was  hid. 

"  You  remember  that  woman,"  he  said,  hurriedly. 
"  Nothing  has  been  heard  of  her  for  two  years.  I  have 
sought  everywhere  for  her.  She  must  be  dead,  and  so, 
Coquette,  you  know,  we  shall  be  married  when  we  get  out 
there  ;  and  perhaps  in  after  years  we  shall  come  back  to 
Airlie.  But  now,  Coquette,  this  is  what  you  must  do. 
The  Caroline  will  wait  for  you  off  Saltcoats  to-night ;  you 
must  come  down  by  yourself,  and  I  will  tell  you  how  to 
get  the  pinnace  to  come  out.  And  then  we  are  to  meet 
the  ship,  darling  ;  and  to-morrow  you  will  have  turned 
your  face  to  a  new  world,  and  will  soon  forget  this  old 
one,  that  was  so  cruel  to  you.  What  do  you  say, 
Coquette  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  cannot !  "  murmured  the  girl.  "  What  will 
become  of  my  uncle  ?  " 

"  Your  uncle  is  an  old  man.  He  would  have  been 
as  lonely  if  you  had  never  come  to  Airlie,  Coquette  ;  and 
we  may  come  back  to  see  him" 

She  looked  up  now,  with  a  white  face,  into  his  eyes, 
and  said  slowly, — 

"  You  know  that  if  we  go  away  to-night  I  shall 
never  see  him  again,  nor  any  one  of  my  friends." 

He  rather  shrank  from  that  earnest  look;  but  he 
said,  with  eyes  turned,  "  What  are  friends  to  you,  Co- 
quette ?  They  cannot  make  you  happy." 


A  DA  UGHTER  OF  HE  TH.  329 

A  little  while  after  that  Coquette  was  on  her  way 
back  to  the  Manse,  alone.  She  had  promised  to  go 
down  to  Saltcoats  that  night,  and  she  had  sealed  her  sin 
with  a  kiss. 

She  scarcely  knew  what  she  had  done  ;  and  yet 
there  was  a  dreadful  consciousness  of  some  impending 
evil  pressing  down  on  her  heart.  Her  eyes  were  fixed 
on  the  ground  as  she  went  along  ;  and  yet  it  seemed  to 
her  that  she  knew  the  dark  clouds  were  glowing  with  a 
fiery  crimson,  and  that  there  was  a  light,  as  of  sunset 
gleaming  over  the  moor.  Then,  so  still  it  was !  She 
grew  afraid  that  in  this  fearful  silence  she  should  hear  a 
voice  speaking  to  her  from  the  sky  that  appeared  to  be 
close  over  her  head. 

Guilty  and  trembling  she  drew  near  to  the  Manse  ; 
and  seeing  the  Minister  coming  out  of  the  gate,  she 
managed  to  avoid  him,  and  stole  like  a  culprit  up  to  her 
own  room.  The  first  thing  that  met  her  eyes  was  a  locket 
containing  a  portrait  of  her  mother.  She  took  it  up, 
and  placed  it  in  a  drawer  along  with  the  crucifix  and 
some  religious  books  to  which  Leezibeth  had  objected. 
She  put  it  beside  them  reverently  and  sadly,  as  though 
she  knew  she  never  dared  touch  them  any  more.  And 
then  she  sat  down,  and  buried  her  face  in  her  hands, 
and  wept  bitterly. 

She  was  unusually  and  tenderly  attentive  to  her 
uncle  at  dinnertime;  and  in  answer  to  his  inquiries  why 
she  scarcely  ate  anything,  she  said  that  she  had  taken 
her  accustomed  biscuit  and  glass  of  port  wine,  which 
Dr.  Menzies  had  recommended,  later  than  usual.  The 
answer  did  not  quite  satisfy  the  Minister. 

"  We  must  have  Lady  Drum  to  take  ye  away  for  a 
change,"  he  said,  "  some  o'  these  days." 

When  she  had  brought  her  uncle  the  silk  hand- 
kerchief with  which  he  generally  covered  his  face  in  set- 
tling down  to  his  after-dinner  nap,  Coquette  went  up- 
stairs, and  put  a  few  odd  things  .into  a  small  reticule. 
Then  she  went  downstairs  again,  and  waited  patiently 
until  tea  was  over  and  the  boys  sent  off  lo  prepare  their 
lessons  for  next  day. 


330  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HE  Til. 

Then  Coquette,  having  put  on  her  shawl  and  hat, 
stole  out  of  the  house,  and  through  the  small  garden. 
She  looked  neither  to  the  right  nor  to  the  left.  Of  all 
the  troubles  she  had  experienced  in  life,  the  bitterest 
was  nothing  in  comparison  to  the  ghastly  sense  of  guilt 
that  now  crushed  her  down.  She  knew  that  in  leaving 
the  Manse  she  was  leaving  behind  her  all  the  sweet 
consciousness  of  rectitude,  the  purity  and  innocence 
which  had  enabled  her  to  meet  trials  with  a  courageous 
heart.  She  was  leaving  behind  her  the  treasure  of  a 
stainless  name,  the  crown  of  womanhood.  She  was 
leaving  behind  her  her  friends,  who  would  have  to  share 
her  shame  and  face  on  her  behalf  the  bitter  tongues  of 
the  world.  She  was  leaving  behind  her  even  the 
pleasant  memories  of  her  mother,  for  Heaven  itself 
would  be  closed  against  her,  and  she  would  be  an  exile 
•from  all  that  a  pure  and  true  woman  could  hold  dear. 

There  were  now  no  tears  in  her  eyes,  but  a  cold, 
dead  weight  at  her  heart ;  and  she  trembled  at  the  slight 
sound  she  made  in  closing  the  gate. 

What  a  strange,  wild  evening  it  was,  as  she  got  out- 
side, and  turned  to  cross  the  moor  over  to  the  west  ! 
Through  a  fierce  glare  of  sunset  she  could  see  that  all 
along  the  horizon,  and  high  over  the  mountains  of  Arran, 
there  lay  a  long  wall  of  dense  blue  cloud.  Underneath 
this  the  sea  lay  black ;  the  wind  had  not  stirred  the 
waves  into  breaking  ;  and  she  could  only  tell  that 
the  great  dark  plain  moved  in  lines  and  lines,  as  if  it 
were  silently  brooding  over  the  secrets  down  in  its 
depths.  But  over  this  dense  wall  of  cloud  lay  the  wild 
light  of  the  sunset,  and  long  fierce  dashes  of  scarlet  and 
gold  ;  while  across  the  blaze  of  yellow  there  drifted 
streaks  of  pure  silver,  showing  the  coming  of  a  storm. 
And  up  here  on  the  moor  the  stretches  of  dry  gray 
grass  which  alternated  with  brown  patches  of  heather 
had,  as  it  were,  caught  fire  ;  and  the  blowing  and  gusty 
light  of  the  west  burned  along  those  bleak  slopes  until 
the  eye  was  dazzled  and  pained  by  the  glow.  Even  in 
the  far  east  the  clouds  had  a  blush  of  pink  over  them, 
with  rifts  of  green  sky  between  ;  and  the  dark  fir- woods 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH.  331 

that  lay  along  the  horizon  seemed  to  dwell  within  a  veil 
of  crimson  mist. 

There  was  a  strange  stillness  up  here  on  the  moor, 
despite  the  fact  that  the  wind  was  blowing  the  red 
clouds  about,  and  causing  now  this  and  now  that  stretch 
of  the  gray  moor  to  burn  red  under  the  shifting  evening 
sky.  There  was  quite  an  unusual  silence,  indeed,  The 
birds  seemed  to  have  grown  mute  ;  not  even  the  late 
blackbird  sang  in  the  hawthorn  bushes  by  the  side  of 
the  moorland  stream.  Coquette  hurried  on,  without  let- 
ting her  eyes  wander  to  either  side  ;  there  was  some- 
thing in  the  look  of  the  moor  and  the  wild  light  that 
alarmed  her. 

Suddenly  she  was  confronted  by  some  one  ;  and, 
looking  up  with  a  sharp  cry,  she  found  the  Pensioner 
before  her. 

"  I  hope  I  hafna  frichtened  ye,  Miss  Cassilis,"  he 
said. 

"No,"  said  Coquette,  "But  I  did  not  expect  to 
meet  any  one." 

"  Ye  will  pe  going  on  a  veesit ;  but  dinna  gang  far, 
for  it  iss  a  stormy-looking  nicht,  and  you  will  maybe  get 
wat  before  sat  you  will  get  home." 

"  Thank  you.  Good-night,"  said  Coquette  hurry- 
ing on. 

"  Good-night/'  said  the  Pensioner. 

Then  he  turned,  and  said,  before  she  was  out  of 
hearing, — 

"  I'm  saying,  Miss  Cassilis,  maype  you  will  know  his 
Lordship  iss  never  coming  back  to  Earlshope  no  more, 
not  even  if  he  will  pe  unable  to  let  sa  house  ?  " 

"  How  should  I  know  ? "  said  Coquette,  suddenly 
struck  motionless  by  the  question. 

"  Maype  no,"  said  the  Pensioner,  in  atone  of  apology. 
"  It  wass  only  that  some  o'  the  neebors  did  see  you 
speakin'  to  Lord  Earlshope  this  mornin',  and  I  was 
thinkin'  that  very  like  he  wass  coming  back  to  his  ain 
house." 

"  I  know  nothing  about  it,"  said  Coquette,  hurrying 


332  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

on,   with   her   heart    overburdened   with   anguish    and 
dread. 

For  now  she  knew  that  all  the  people  would  learn 
why  she  had  run  away  from  her  uncle's  house  ;  and 
they  would  carry  to  the  old  man  the  story  of  their  hav- 
ing seen  her  talking  to  Lord  Earlshope.  But  for  that 
the  Minister  might  have  thought  her  drowned  or  per- 
ished in  some  way.  That  was  all  over;  and  her  shame 
would  be  publicly  known  ;  and  he  would  have  to  bear 
it  in  his  old  age. 

Down  at  the  end  of  the  moor  she  turned  to  take  a 
last  look  at  the  Manse.  Far  up  on  the  height  the  win- 
dows of  the  small  building  were  twinkling  like  gleam- 
ing rubies  :  the  gable  and  tlie  wall  around  the  garden 
were  of  a  dusky  red  color ;  overhead  the  sky  was  apure, 
clear  green,  and  the  white  sickle  of  a  new  mccn  was 
faintly  visible.  Never  before  had  Airlie  Manse  seemed 
to  her  so  lovable  a  place,  so  still  and  quiet  and  comfor- 
table. And  when  she  thought  of  the  old  man  who  had 
been  like  a  father  to  her,  she  could  see  no  more  through 
the  tears  that  came  welling  up  into  her  eyes,  and  she 
turned  and  continued  on  her  way  with  many  bitter  sobs. 

The  wind  had  grown  chill.  The  wall  of  cloud  was 
slowly  rising  in  the  west,  until  it  had  shut  off  half  of  the 
glowing  colors  of  the  sunset  ;  and  the  evening  was  be- 
coming rapidly  darker.  Then  it  seemed  to  Coquette 
that  the  black  plain  of  the  sea  was  getting  strangely 
close  to  her,  and  she  began  to  grow  afraid  of  the  gath- 
ering darkness. 

"  Why  did  he  not  come  to  meet  me  ? "  she  mur- 
mured to  herself.  "  I  have  no  courage — no  hope — when 
he  is  not  near." 

It  grew  still  darker,  and  yet  she  could  not  hurry 
her  steps,  for  she  trembled  much,  and  was  like  to  be- 
come faint.  She  had  vague  thoughts  of  returning  ;  and 
yet  she  went  on  mechanically,  as  if  she  had  cast  the 
die  of  her  fate,  and  could  no  more  be  what  she  was. 

Then  the  first  shock  of  the  storm  fell,  fell  with  a  crash 
on  the  fir-woods,  and  tore  through  them  with  a  voice  of 
thunder.  All  over  now  the  sky  was  black ;  and  there 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETIf.  333 

was  a  whirlwind  whitening  the  sea,  the  cry  of  which 
could  be  neard  far  out  beyond  the  land.  Then  came  the 
rain  in  wild,  fierce  torrents  that  blew  about  the  wet 
fields,  and  raised  red  channels  of  water  in  the  roads.  Co- 
quette had  no  covering  of  any  sort.  In  a  few  minutes 
she  was  drenched  ;  and  yet  she  did  not  seem  to  know. 
She  only  staggered  on  blindly,  in  the  vain  hope  of  reach- 
ing Saltcoats  before  the  darkness  had  fallen,  and  seeking 
some  shelter.  She  would  not  go  to  meet  Lord  Earlshope. 
She  would  creep  into  some  hovel ;  and  then,  in  the 
morning,  send  a  message  of  repentance  to  her  uncle,  and 
go  away  somewhere,  and  never  see  any  more  the  rela- 
tions and  friends  whom  she  had  betrayed  and  disgraced. 

Nevertheless  she  still  went  recklessly  on,  her  eyes 
confused  by  the  rain,  her  brain  a  prey  to  wild  and  de- 
spairing thoughts. 

The  storm  grew  in  intensity.  The  roar  of  the  sea 
could  now  be  heard  far  over  the  cry  of  the  wind  ;  and 
the  rain-clouds  came  across  the  sea  in  huge  masses,  and 
were  blown  down  upon  the  land  in  hissing  torrents.  Still 
Coquette  struggled  on. 

At  last  she  saw  before  her  the  lights  of  Saltcoats. 
But  the  orange  points  seemed  to  dance  before  her  eyes. 
There  was  a  burning  in  her  head.  And  then,  with  a 
faint  cry  of  "  Uncle,  uncle  !  "  she  sank  down  by  the  road- 
side. 

There  was  a  sound  of  wheels.  A  wagonette  was 
suddenly  stopped  just  in  front  of  her,  and  a  man  jumped 
down. 

'  "  What  is  the  matter  wi'  ye,  my  lass  ?     Bless  me,  is  it 
you,  Miss  Cassilis  ?  " 

The  girl  was  quite  insensible,  however ;  and  the  man, 
who  happened  to  know  Miss  Cassiiis,  lost  no  time  in 
carrying  her  to  the  waggonette,  and  driving  her  on  to 
his  own  house,  which  was  but  a  few  hundred  yards  farther 
on,  at  the  entrance  to  the  town.  There  his  wife  and  one 
of  the  servants  restored  Coquette  to  consciousness,  and 
had  her  wet  clothes  taken  off,  and  herself  put  to  bed. 
The  girl  seemed  already  feverish,  if  not  delirious. 

"  But  what  does  she  say  of  herself  ? "  asked  this  Mr. 


334  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

M' Henry,  when  his  wife  came  down.  "  How  did  she 
come  to  be  on  the  way  to  Saltcoats  a'  by  herself  ?  " 

"  That  I  dinna  ken,"  said  his  wife ;  "  but  the  first 
words  she  spoke  were,  'Take  me  back  to  Airlie  to  my 
uncle.  I  will  not  go  to  Saltcoats. ' ' 

"  I  would  send  for  the  Minister,"  said  the  husband, 
"  but  no  human  being  could  win  up  to  Airlie  on  such  a 
nicht.  We  will  get  him  down  in  the  morning." 

So  Coquette  remained  in  Saltcoats  that  night.  Under 
Mrs.  M'Henry's  treatment  the  fever  abated  ;  and  she  lay 
during  the  darkness,  and  listened  to  the  howling  of  the 
storm.  Where  was  Lord  Earlshope  ? 

"  I  hope  he  has  gone  away  by  himself  to  America, 
and  that  I  will  never  see  him  again,*'  she  murmured  to 
herself.  "  But  I  can  never  go  back  to  Airlie  any  more." 


CHAPTER  XLIX. 

A    SECRET   OF    THE    SEA. 

NEXT  morning  there  was  a  great  commotion  in  Salt- 
coats.  Despite  the  fierce  gusts  of  wind  that  were  still 
blowing,  accompanied  by  squally  showers  of  rain,  numbers 
of  people  were  out  on  the  long  stretch  of  brown  sand 
lying  south  of  the  town.  Mischief  had  been  at  work  on 
the  sea  over-night.  Fragments  of  barrels,  bits  of  spars, 
and  other  evidences  of  a  wreck  were  being  knocked 
about  on  the  waves  ;  and  two  smacks  had  even  put  out 
to  see  if  any  larger  remains  of  the  lost  vessel  or  vessels 
were  visible,  Mr.  M*  Henry  was  early  abroad  ;  for  he 
had  gone  into  the  town  to  get  a  messenger,  and  so  he 
heard  the  news.  At  last,  amid  the  gossiping  of  the  neigh- 
bors, he  learned  that  a  lad  had  just  been  summoned  by  a 
certain  Mrs.  Kilbride  to  go  up  on  an  errand  to  Airlie, 
and  he  resolved  to  secure  his  services  to  carry  the  mes- 
sage. 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETtf. 


335 


Eventually  he  met  the  lad  on  his  way  to  the  moor- 
land village,  and  then  it  turned  out  that  the  errand  was 
merely  to  carry  a  letter  to  Miss  Cassilis,  at  the  Manse. 

"  But  Miss  Cassalis  is  at  my  house,"  said  Mr. 
M'Henry.  "  Give  me  the  letter,  and  gang  ye  on  to  the 
Manse  and  ask  Mr.  Cassilis  to  come  doon  here." 

So  the  lad  departed,  and  the  letter  was  taken  up  and 
placed  on  the  table  where  Coquette  was  to  have  her 
breakfast. 

She  came  down,  looking  very  pale,  but  would  give  no 
explanation  of  how  she  came  to  be  out  on  such  a  night. 
She  thanked  them  for  having  sent  for  her  uncle,  and  sat 
down  at  the  table,  but  ate  nothing. 

Then  she  saw  the  letter,  and,  with  a  quick,  pained 
flush  of  color  leaping  to  her  cheeks,  she  took  it  up  and 
opened  it  with  trembling  fingers.  Then  she  read  these 
xvords,— 

"  Dearest, — I  cannot  exact  from  you  the  sacrifice  of 
your  life.  Remorse  and  misery  for  all  the  rest  of  our 
years  would  be  the  penalty  to  both  of  us  by  your  going 
with  me  to-night,  even  though  you  might  put  a  brave 
face  on  the  matter,  and  conceal  your  anguish.  I  cannot 
let  you  suffer  that,  Coquette.  I  will  leave  for  America 
by  myself  ;  and  I  will  never  attempt  to  see  you  again. 
That  promise  I  have  broken  before  ;  but  it  will  not  be 
broken  this  time.  Good-bye,  Coquette.  My  earnest  hope 
is  that  you  will  not  come  to  Saltcoats  to-night;  and,  in 
that  case,  this  letter  will  be  forwarded  to  you  in  the  morn- 
ing. Forgive  me,  if  you  can,  for  all  the  suffering  I  have 
caused  you.  I  will  never  forget  you,  darling,  but  I  will 
never  see  England  or  yo'i  again. 

"  EARLSHOPE." 

There  was  almost  a  look  of  joy  on  her  face. 

"  So  I  did  not  vex  him,"  she  thought,  "  by  keeping 
him  waiting.  And  he  has  conquered  too  ;  and  he  will 
think  better  of  himself  and  of  me-  away  over  there  for 
many  years  to  come,  if  he  does  not  forget  all  about 
Airlie." 


336  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

And  that  reference  to  Airlie  recalled  the  thought  of 
her  uncle,  and  of  his  meeting  with  her.  As  the  time 
drew  near  for  his  approach  she  became  more  and  more 
downcast.  When,  at  last,  the  old  man  came  into  the 
room  where  she  was  sitting  alone,  her  eyes  were  fixed 
on  the  ground,  and  she  dared  not  raise  them. 

He  went  over  to  her,  and  placed  his  hand  on  her 
head. 

"  What  is  all  this,  Catherine  ?  Did  you  miss  your 
way  last  night  ?  What  made  ye  go  out  on  such  a  night, 
without  saying  a  word  to  any  one  ?  " 

She  replied  in  a  low  voice,  which  was  yet  studiously 
distinct, — 

"  Yesterday  afternoon  I  went  away  from  the  Manse, 
not  intending  to  go  back." 

The  Minister  made  a  slight  gesture  as  if  some  twinge 
had  shot  across  his  heart ;  and  then,  looking  at  her  in  a 
sad  and  grave  way,  he  said, — 

"  I  did  not  think  I  had  been  unkind  to  you,  Cathe- 
rine." 

This  was  too  much  for  Coquette.  It  broke  down  the 
obduracy  with  which  she  had  been  vainly  endeavoring  to 
fortify  herself  ;  and  she  fell  at  the  feet  of  her  uncle,  and, 
with  wild  tears  and  sobs,  told  him  all  that  had  happened, 
and  begged  him  to  go  away  and  leave  her,  for  she  had  be- 
come a  stranger  and  an  outcast.  Stunned  as  the  old 
man  was  by  these  revelations,  he  forgot  to  express  his 
sense  of  her  guilt.  He  saw  only  before  him  the  daugh- 
ter of  his  own  brother,  a  girl  who  had  scarce  a  friend  in 
the  world  but  himself,  and  she  was  at  his  feet  in  tears 
and  shame  and  bitter  distress.  He  raised  her  and  put 
her  head  on  his  breast,  and  tried  to  still  her  sobbing. 

"  Catherine,"  he  said,  with  his  own  voice  broken,  "  you 
shall  never  be  an  outcast  from  my  house,  so  long  as  you 
care  to  accept  its  shelter." 

"  But  I  cannot  go  back  to  Airlie — I  cannot  go  back 
to  Airlie  !  "  she  said,  almost  wildly.  "  I  will  not  bring 
disgrace  upon  you,  uncle ;  and  have  the  people  talk  of 
me,  and  blame  you  for  taking  me  back.  I  am  going 
away — I  am  not  fit  to  go  back  to  Airlie,  uncle.  You 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HE  TIL 


337 


have  been  very  good  to  me — far  better  than  I  deserve  ; 
but  I  cannot  tell  you  now  that  I  love  you  for  all  your 
kindness  to  me — for  now  it  is  a  disgrace  for  me  to  speak 
to  any  one " 

"Hush,  Catherine,"  he  said.  ."It  is  penitence,  not 
despair,  that  must  fill  your  heart.  And  the  penitent  has 
not  to  look  to  man  for  pardon,  nor  yet  to  fear  what  may 
be  said  of  him  in  wrath.  They  that  go  elsewhere  for 
forgiveness  and  comfort  have  no  reason  to  dread  the  ill- 
tongues  of  their  neighbors.  '  They  looked  unto  Him, 
and  were  lightened ;  and  their  faces  were  not  ashamed. 
This  poor  man  cried,  and  the  Lord  heard  him,  and  saved 
him  out  of  ail  his  troubles.'  You  will  go  back  to  Airlie 
with  me,  my  girl.  Perhaps  you  do  not  feel  at  home 
there  yet ;  three  years  is  not  a  long  time  to  get  accus- 
tomed to  a  new  country.  I  am  told  ye  sometimes  cried 
in  thinking  about  France,  just  as  the  Jews  in  captivity 
did,  when  they  said,  '  By  the  rivers  of  Babylon,  there, 
we  sat  down  ;  yea,  we  wept  when  we  remembered 
Zion.'  But  maybe  I  have  erred  in  not  making  the  house 
lichtsome  enough  for  ye.  I  am  an  old  man,  Catherine  ; 
and  the  house  is  dull,  perhaps.  But  if  ye  will  tell  me 
how  we  can  make  it  pleasanter  to  ye " 

"  Oh,  uncle,  you  are  breaking  my  heart  with  your 
kindness  !  "  she  sobbed ;  "  and  I  deserve  none  of  it ; 
none  of  it !  " 

It  was  with  great  difficulty  that  the  Minister  per- 
suaded her  to  go  back  with  him  to  the  Manse.  At 
length,  however,  a  covered  carriage  was  procured,  and 
Coquette  and  her  uncle  were  driven  up  to  Airlie.  The 
girl  sat  now  quite  silent  and  impassive  ;  only  when  she 
saw  any  one  of  the  neighbors  passing  along  the  road  she 
seemed  nervously  anxious  to  avoid  scrutiny.  When  they 
got  up  to  the  gate  of  the  Manse,  which  was  open,  she 
walked  quietly  and  sadly  by  her  uncle's  side  across  the 
bit  of  garden  into  the  house,  and  was  then  for  going  up- 
stairs by  herself.  Her  uncle  prevented  her. 

"  Ye  must  come  and  sit  wi'  me  for  a  little  while,  until 
Leezibeth  has  got  some  breakfast  ready  for  ye." 


338  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

"I  do  not  want  anything  to  eat,"  said  Coquette  ;  and 
she  seemed  afraid  of  the  sound  of  her  own  voice. 

"  Nevertheless,"  said  the  Minister,  "  I  would  inquire 
further  into  this  matter,    Catherine.     It  is  but  proper 
that  I  should  know  what  measure  of  guilt  falls  upon 
that  young  man  in  endeavoring  to  wean  away  a  respect 
able  girl  from  her  home  and  her  friends." 

Coquette  drew  back,  with  some  alarm  visible  on  her 
face. 

"  Uncle,  I  cannot  tell  you  now.  Some  other  time, 
perhaps  ;  but  not  now,  not  now.  And  you  must  not 
think  him  guilty,  uncle  ;  it  is  I  who  am  guilty  of  it  all ; 
he  is  much  better  than  any  of  you  think,  and  now  he  is 
away  to  America,  and  no  one  will  defend  him  if  he  is 
accused." 

At  the  moment  that  she  spoke  Lord  Earlshope  was 
beyond  the  reach  of  accusation  and  defence.  The  Salt- 
coats  people,  towards  the  afternoon,  discovered  the  lid 
of  a  chest  floating  about,  and  on  it  was  painted  in  white 
letters  the  word  Caroline.  Later  there  came  a  telegram 
from  Greenock  to  the  effect  that  during  the  preceding 
night  the  schooner  yacht  Caroline  had  been  run  down  and 
sunk  in  mid-channel  by  a  steamer  going  to  Londonderry, 
and  that,  of  all  on  board  the  yacht,  the  steamer  had 
been  able  to  pick  up  only  the  steward.  And  that  same 
night  the  news  made  its  way  up  to  Airlie,  and  circulated 
through  the  village,  and  at  length  reached  the  Manse. 
Other  rumors  accompanied  it.  For  the  moment,  no  one 
dared  to  tell  Coquette  of  what  had  happened  ;  but  none 
the  less  was  her  flight  from  the  Manse  connected  with 
this  terrible  judgment ;  and  even  Leezibeth,  struck 
dumb  with  shame  and  grief,  had  no  word  of  protest  when 
Andrew  finished  his  warnings  and  denunciations. 

14  There  is  no  healing  of  thy  bruise,"  said  Leezibeth 
to  herself  sadly,  in  thinking  of  Coquette.  "  Thy  wound 
is  grievous  :  all  that  hear  the  bruit  of  thee  shall  clap  their 
hands  over  thee." 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETIf. 

CHAPTER   L. 

CONSENT. 

SHARP  and  bitter  was  the  talk  that  ran  through 
Airlie  about  the  Minister's  niece  ;  and  Coquette  knew 
of  it,  and  shrank  away  from  the  people,  and  would  fain 
have  hidden  herself  from  the  light  as  one  occursed. 
Now  indeed  she  knew  what  it  was  to  have  a  ban  placed 
upon  her ;  and  all  the  old  fearless  consciousness  of 
right  had  gone,  so  that  she  could  no  longer  attempt  to 
win  over  the  people  to  her  by  patience  and  sweetness, 
and  the  charm  of  her  pleasant  ways.  She  had  fallen 
too  far  in  her  own  esteem  ;  and  Leezibeth  began  to  be 
alarmed  about  the  effects  of  that  calm  and  reticent  sad- 
ness, which  had  grown  to  be  the  normal  expression  of 
Coquette's  once  light  and  happy  face. 

It  was  Leezibeth  who  unintentionally  confirmed  the 
surmises  of  the  villages,  by  begging  the  Minister  to  con- 
ceal from  Coquette  the  knowledge  of  Lord  Earlshope's 
tragic  death.  The  Minister,  anxious  above  all  things 
for  the  girl's  health,  consented  ;  and  it  then  became 
necessary  to  impose  silence  on  those  who  were  likely  to 
meet  Coquette  elsewhere.  So  it  became  known  that 
mention  of  Lord  Earlshope  was  not  to  be  made  to  this 
quiet  and  pale-faced  girl,  who  still,  in  spite  of  her  sad- 
ness, had  something  of  a  proud  air,  and  looked  at  peo- 
ple unflinchingly  with  her  dark  and  troubled  eyes,  as 
though  she  would  ask  them  what  they  thought  of  her. 

Whether  this  policy  of  silence  were  advisable  or  not, 
it  was  certainly  not  very  prudent  to  conceal  from  the 
Whaup  likewise  all  intelligence  of  what  had  happened. 
He  had  heard  of  Lord  Earlshope's  death,  of  course,  and 
was  a  little  surprised  to  be  asked  not  to  mention  the  mat- 
ter in  his  letters  to  Coquette;  but  beyond  that,  he  was 
in  complete  ignorance  of  all  that  had  occurred  at  Airlie 
in  his  absence.  But  by  and  by  rumors  came  to  him. 


340  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

He  began  to  grow  uneasy.  Finally  he  saw  Lady  Drum  ; 
and  she,  seeing  the  necessity  of  being  explicit,  told  him 
everything  in  as  gentle  a  way  as  she  could. 

"  And  so,''  he  said,  "  my  cousin  is  looked  upon  as  an 
outcast ;  and  the  good  people  of  Airlie  say  evil  things  of 
her ;  and  I  suppose  wonder  why  she  dares  go  into  the 
church." 

Lady  Drum  made  no  reply  ;  he  had  but  described 
the  truth. 

Then  the  Whaup  rose  up,  like  a  man,  and   said, — 

"  Lady  Drum,  I  am  going  down  to  Airlie  to  get  Co- 
quette to  marry  me,  and  I  will  take  her  away  from  there, 
and  the  people  may  talk  then  until  their  rotten  tongues 
drop  out." 

Lady  Drum  rose  too,  and  put  her  hand  on  his  shoulder, 
and  said  gently, — 

"  If  I  were  a  man,  that  is  what  I  would  do.  Off  wi' 
ye  to  Airlie  directly,  and  whether  she  say  yes  or  no, 
bring  her  away  wi'  ye  as  your  wife.  That  will  mend  a 
great  many  matters/' 

So  the  Whaup  went  down  to  Airlie,  and  all  the  way 
in  the  train  his  heart  was  on  fire  with  various  emotions 
of  pity  and  anger  and  love,  and  his  brain  busy  with  plans 
and  schemes.  He  would  have  liked  another  year's  prep- 
aration, perhaps  ;  but  his  position  now  with  regard  to 
Dr.  Menzies  was  fully  secured,  and  his  income,  if  not  a 
very  big  one,  sufficient  for  the  meantime.  And  when 
he  went  up  to  Airlie,  and  reached  the  Manse,  he  made 
no  inquiries  of  anybody,  but  went  straight,  in  his  old  im- 
petuous way,  into  the  room  where  he  expected  to  find 
Coquette. 

Coquette  was  alone,  and  when  he  opened  the  door 
he  found  her  eyes  fixed  on  him. 

"  Oh,  Coquette,  you  are  ill !  "  he  said  seizing  both  her 
hands  and  looking  into  her  face. 

"  No,"  she  said,  "  I  am  not  ill.  You  must  not  vex 
yourself  about  me,  it  is  only  I  have  not  been  much  out 
of  late." 

"  Ah,  I  know  why  you  have  not  been  out,"  he  said, 
"and  I  am  comedown  to  put  all  these  things  straight. 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HE TH. 


34' 


Coquette,  you  must  marry  me  now.  I  won't  go  away 
unless  you  go  with  me  as  my  wife.  That  is  what  I  have 
come  down  for." 

The  girl  had  started,  as  though  a  whip  had  stung  her ; 
and  now  a  flush  of  shame  and  pain  was  visible  in  her 
face.  She  withdrew  her  hands  from  his,  and  said,  with 
her  eyes  cast  down, — 

"  I  understand  why  you  come  down.  You  know  what 
they  say  of  me.  You  wish  to  marry  me  to  prove  it  is 
not  true,  and  give  me  some  better  opinion  of  myself. 
That  is  very  good  of  you  ;  it  is  what  I  did  expect  of  you  , 
—but,  but  I  am  too  proud  to  be  married  in  that  way,  and 
I  do  not  wish  any  sacrifice  from  anybody." 

"  What  is  the  use  of  talking  like  that,  Coquette  ?  " 
he  said,  impetuously.  "What  has  sacrifice  or  pride  got 
to  do  between  you  and  me  ?  Why  need  you  care  what 
the  people  at  Airlie  or  the  people  all  over  the  world  think 
of  you  ?  I  know  all  about  that,  Coquette,  I  know  the 
whole  story  ;  and  I  look  into  your  eyes,  and  I  know  that 
I  am  doing  right.  Look  here  Coquette,  I  am  going  to 
take  you  away.  I  will  teach  you  what  to  think  of  your- 
self, and  then  you  will  talk  no  more  of  sacrifice.  Sacrifice  ! 
If  there  is  any  sacrifice,  it  is  in  your  thinking  of  marry- 
ing a  good-for-nothing  fellow  like  me.  It's  like  a  princess 
marrying  a  gamekeeper  fellow,  or  something  like  that  ; 
and  you  talk  of  sacrifice,  and  what  the  wretched  idiots 
of  a  ridiculous  little  village  think  of  you  !  Why  Coquette  ! 
It  all  comes  of  your  being  shut  up  here,  and  seeing 
nothing,  and  being  left  to  your  own  dreams.  You  are 
getting  distorted  views  of  everything  in  this  dismal  place. 
It's  like  conducting  experiments  in  a  vacuum  :  what  you 
want  is  to  get  braced  up  by  the  actual  atmosphere  of 
the  world,  and  learn  how  things  work  there,  and  dis- 
cover the  value  that  people  will  put  upon  you.  What 
can  the  croaking  frogs  of  a  marsh  like  this  know  of  you 
or  your  value  Coquette  ?  Don't  you  remember  how  you 
went  about  Lady  Drum's  rooms  like  a  queen  ;  and  every- 
body waited  on  you ;  and  I  scarcely  dared  come  near 
you  ?  Sacrifice  !  You  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself, 
Coquette." 


342  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

He  spoke  in  the  old  and  rapid  fashion  with  which  she 
used  to  be  familiar ;  and  his  cheeks  were  flushed  with 
enthusiasm;  and  his  handsome  face  full  of  daring  and 
confidence,  as  though  he  would  have  laughed  at  her 
scruples  and  defied  the  world  for  her  sake.  Perhaps  he 
did  not  despise  Airlie  altogether  as  much  as  he  said  ;  but 
in  the  hot  haste  of  his  eloquence  there  was  no  time  to  be 
particular,  or  even  just. 

"  You  are  as  impetuous  as  ever,  and  you  are  as  gen- 
erous as  ever  ;  but  you  are  grown  no  wiser,"  she  said, 
looking  at  him  in  a  kindly  way.  "  For  me,  I  have  grown 
much  older  than  when  we  went  about  here.  I  do  see 
many  things  differently  ;  and  just  now  I  must  tell  you 
what  is  right  and  best  for  both  of  us.  You  must  not 
say  any  more  about  our  marriage  ;  but  go  up  to  Glasgow 
again,  and  forget  all  about  me.  If  it  is  painful  for  you 
in  the  meantime,  I  am  sorry  ;  it  will  be  better  for  you 
by  and  by.  If  you  did  marry  a  wife  who  had  not  a  good 
name  among  all  people,  strangers  as  well,  you  might 
not  care  for  a  little  while,  but  you  would  remember  of  it 
afterwards,  and  that  would  be  very  sorrowful  for  both." 

With  that  she  rose  and  would  have  passed  him,  and 
gone  to  the  door.  But  he  stood  in  her  way,  and  con- 
fronted her,  and  said,  with  a  certain  coldness  of  tone, — 

"  You  must  answer  me  one  question,  Coquette, 
clearly  and  truthfully.  Is  all  that  you  say  meiely  an 
excuse  for  breaking  off  our  marriage  altogether  ? " 

She  looked  surprised. 

"  Then  you  do  no  longer  believe  I  speak  the  truth  ? 
An  excuse,  that  is  something  untrue.  No — I  have  no 
need  of  excuses." 

She  would  have  left  the  room  then,  but  he  caught 
her  hand  and  said, — 

4'  We  are  no  longer  children,  Coquette.  This  is  too 
serious  a  matter  to  be  settled  by  a  mere  misunder- 
standing or  a  quarrel.  I  want  to  know  if  you  have  no 
other  reason  to  postpone  our  marriage,  or  break  it  up 
altogether,  than  the  foolish  talk  that  prevails  in  the 
village  ? " 

"  You  do  forget,"  she  said,  evidently  forcing  herself 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  IIETH. 


343 


to  speak  in  a  cold  and  determined  manner  "that  the 
people  have  some  right  to  talk,  that  I  did  go  away  from 
the  Manse,  expecting " 

She  could  get  no  further.  She  shuddered  violently  ; 
and  then,  sitting  down,  covered  her  face  with  her  hands. 

"  I  tell  you  I  know  all  about  that,  Coquette,"  he 
said,  sadly.  "  It  was  very  bitter  for  me  to  hear  it " 

"  And  then  you  did  come  here,  despising  me,  and 
yet  wishing  to  marry  me,  so  that  I  might  not  be  too  cast 
down.  It  is  very  generous,  but  you  see  it  is  impossi- 
ble." 

"  And  you  mean  that  as  a  final  answer,  Coquette  ?  " 

She  looked  up  into  his  face. 

'•'  Yes,"  she  said,  with  her  eyes  fixed  on  his. 

"  Good-bye,  then,  Coquette,"  said  he. 

Anxious  as  was  her  scrutiny,  she  could  not  tell  how 
he  received  this  announcement,  but  the  tone  in  which 
he  bade  her  good-bye  went  like  a  knife  to  her  heart. 
She  held  out  her  hand  and  said,  or  was  about  to  say, 
"  Good-bye,"  when,  somehow,  she  failed  to  reach  his 
hand,  and  the  room  seemed  to  swim  round.  Then  there 
was  a  space  of  blank  unconsciousness,  followed  by  the 
slow  breathing  of  returning  life,  and  she  knew  that  he 
was  bathing  her  forehead  with  a  handkerchief  and  cold 
water. 

"You  must  not  go  away  like  that,"  she  said  to  him, 
when  she  had  somewhat  recovered ;  "  I  have  few 
friends." 

And  so,  sitting  down  beside  her,  he  began  to  tell 
her  in  a  gentle  and,  at  times,  somewhat  embarrassed 
voice  the  story  of  his  love  for  her,  and  all  the  plans  he 
had  formed,  and  how  his  only  hope  in  the  world  was  to 
marry  her.  He  did  not  care  what  lay  in  the  past  ;  the 
future  was  to  be  theirs,  and  he  would  devote  himself  to 
making  her  once  more  the  light-hearted  Coquette  of  for- 
mer days.  He  spoke  to  her  as  if  afraid  to  disturb  her 
even  by  the  urgency  of  his  affection ;  and  while  he 
talked  in  this  low  and  earnest  fashion,  the  girl's  eyes 
were  wistful  and  yet  pleased,  as  if  she  were  looking  at 


344 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HE  TIL 


the  pictures  he  drew  of  a  happy  future  for  both  of  them 
and  beginning  to  believe  in  their  possibility. 

"  People  have  sorrows  and  disappointments,  you 
know,  Coquette,"  he  said,  "  and  yet  they  forget  them 
in  great  measure,  for  it  is  useless  to  spend  a  lifetime  in 
looking  back.  And  people  do  weak  things  and  cruel 
things  that  haunt  their  conscience  and  trouble  them 
bitterly  ;  but  even  these  are  lightened  by  time.  And 
the  ill  opinion  of  the  world,  that,  too,  gets  removed  by 
time  ;  and  all  the  old  years,  with  their  griefs  and  their 
follies  and  mistakes,  get  wiped  out.  You  are  too  young 
to  think  that  life  has  been  irretrievably  spoiled  for  you. 
You  have  got  another  life  to  set  out  on.;  and  you  may 
depend  on  my  making  it  as  pleasant  and  as  comfortable 
as  possible,  if  you  will  only  give  me  the  chance." 

"You  do  talk  as  if  it  was  my  pleasure  and  comfort  I 
did  think  of,"  said  Coquette.  "  No,  that  is  not  so.  When 
I  did  say  I  would  not  marry  you,  it  was  for  your  sake  ; 
and  then,  when  you  seemed  to  be  going  away  estranged 
from  me,  I  thought  I  would  do  anything  to  keep  you  my 
friend.  So  I  will  now.  Is  that  all  true  you  say,  my 
poor  boy,  about  your  caring  only  for  one  thing  in  the 
world  ?  Will  your  life  be  wretched  if  I  am  not  your 
wife  ?  Lecause  then  I  will  marry  you,  if  you  like." 

"  Ah  !  do  you  say  that,  Coquette  ?  "  he  said,  with  a 
flash  of  joy  in  his  eyes. 

There  was  no  such  joy  visible  on  her  face. 

"  If  you  could  say  to  yourself,"  she  added,  calmly, 
"  after  a  little  time,  '  I  will  keep  Coquette  as  my  friend, 
as  my  best  friend,  but  I  will  marry  somebody  else/  that 
would  be  better  for  you." 

"  It  would  be  nothing  of  the  kind,"  he  said,  cheer- 
fully, "  nor  for  you  either.  I  am  £.bout  to  set  myself 
the  task  of  transforming  you  Coquette,  and  in  a  year  or 
two  you  won't  know  yourself." 

"  In  a  year  or  two,"  she  repeated,  thoughtfully. 

"  You  know  I  am  a  doctor  now,  and  I  am  going  to 
become  your  attendant  physician,  and  I  will  prescribe 
for  you,  Coquette,  plenty  of  amusement  and  holidays, 
and  of  course  I  will  go  with  you  to  see  that  my  order? 


DAUGHTER  OF  HETfL 


345 


are  obeyed.  And  you  will  forget  everything  that  is 
past  and  gone,  for  I  will  give  you  plenty  to  think  about 
in  managing  the  details  of  the  house,  you  know,  and 
arranging  for  people  coming  to  see  you  in  the  evenings. 
And  then,  in  the  autumn-time,  Coquette,  you  will  get 
as  brown  as  a  berry  among  the  valleys  and  the  moun- 
tains of  Switzerland ;  and  if  we  come  through  France, 
you  shall  be  interpreter  for  me,  and  take  the  tickets,  you 
know,  and  complain  to  the  landlords.  All  that,  and 
ever  so  much  more,  lies  before  you ;  and  all  that  is  to 
be  done  in  the  meantime  is  to  get  you  away  from  this 
melancholy  place,  that  has  been  making  you  wretched 
and  pale  and  sad.  Now,  Coquette,  tell  me  when  I  am 
to  take  you  away." 

She  rose  with  almost  an  expression  of  alarm  on  her 
face. 

4<  Ah,  not  yet,  not,  yet,"  she  said.  "  You  will  think 
over  it  first,  perhaps  you  will  alter  your  intentions." 

"  I  sha'n?t  do  anything  of  the  kind,  Coquette,  unless 
you  alter  yours.  Mind  you,  I  don't  mean  to  goad  you 
into  marrying  me  ;  and  if  you  say  now  that  it  vexes  you 
to  think  of  it " 

k<  It  does  not  vex  me,  if  it  will  make  you  happy/'  she 
said. 

"  Then  you  don't  wish  to  rescind  your  promise." 

"  No,  I  do  not  wish  it." 

"  And  you  will  really  become  my  wife,  Coquette  ?  " 

She  hesitated  for  a  moment ;  and  then  she  said,  in  a 
low  voice, — 

"  I  will  be  your  wife  if  you  wish  it,  and  make  you 
as  happy  as  I  can  ;  but  not  yet,  Tom,  not  yet ;  and  you 
must  not  be  vexed  if  I  cannot  set  a  time." 

With  that  she  left  the  room  ;  and  he  flung  himself 
into  a  chair  to  ponder  over  his  recollections  of  an  inter- 
view which  seemed  very  strange  and  perplexing  to  him. 
"  It  does  not  vex  me,  if  it  will  make  you  happy  " — that 
was  all  he  could  get  her  to  say.  No  expression  of  in- 
terest, no  hopeful  look,  such  as  a  girl  naturally  wears 
in  talking  of  her  coming  marriage.  And  these  moods 


346  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

of  fear,  of  despondency,  even  bordering  on  wild  despair, 
what  did  they  mean  ? 

"  There  is  something  altogether  wrong  in  her  rela- 
tions with  the  people  around  her,"  he  said.  "  She 
seems  to  labor  under  a  burden  of  self-constraint  and  of 
sadness  which  would  in  another  year  kill  a  far  stronger 
woman  than  she  is.  The  place  does  not  suit  her;  the 
people  don't  suit  her.  Everything  seems  to  have  gone 
wrong  ;  and  the  Coquette  I  see  bears  no  resemblance 
to  the  Coquette  who  came  here  a  few  years  ago.  What- 
ever it  is  that  is  wrong,  our  marriage  will  solve  the  prol> 
lem,  and  transfer  her  to  a  new  sphere  and  new  associa- 
tions." 

The  Whaup  endeavored  to  reassure  himself  with 
these  forecasts  ;  but  did  not  quite  succeed,  for  there 
was  a  vague  doubt  and  anxiety  hanging  about  his  rnind 
which  would  not  be  exorcised. 


CHAPTER  LI. 

THE    PALE    BRIDE. 

THE  Whaup  telegraphed  to  Dr.  Menzies  for  permr- 
sion  to  remain  at  Airlie  another  couple  of  days,  and  re- 
ceived it.  He  made  good  use  of  his  time.  Some  brief 
conversations  he  had  with  Leezibeth  in  regard  to  Co- 
quette quickened  his  resolve.  He  went  to  his  father, 
too,  and  told  him  of  his  wishes. 

The  old  man  could  at  first  scarcely  credit  this  strange 
announcement.  He  had  never  even  suspected  his  son 
of  being  particularly  fond  of  Coquette ;  and  now  his 
first  idea  was  that  the  Whaup  in  an  exceptionally  chiv- 
alrous fashion  had  proposed  to  marry  her  as  an  answer 
to  the  evil  rumors  that  were  afloat.  He  was  soon  dis- 
abused on  this  point.  Confidences  on  such  a  point,  be- 
tween father  and  son,  are  somewhat  embarrassing  things, 
particularly  in  most  Scotch  households,  where  reticence 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH 


347 


on  matters  of  the  affections  is  carried  to  a  curious  ex- 
treme ;  but  the  Whaup  was  too  deeply  in  earnest  to 
think  of  himself.  With  a  good  deal  of  rough  eloquence, 
and  even  a  touch  of  pathos  here  and  there,  he  pleaded  the 
case  of  Coquette  and  himself;  and  at  the  end  of  it  the 
Minister,  who  was  evidently  greatly  disturbed,  said  he 
would  consider  the  subject  in  privacy.  The  Whaup 
left  his  father's  study  with  a  light  heart ;  he  knew  that 
the  Minister's  great  affection  for  his  niece  would  carry 
the  day,  were  all  Airlie  to  sign  a  protest. 

The  Whaup  was  in  the  garden.  His  brothers  were  at 
school ;  Coquette  had  disappeared,  he  knew  not  whither; 
and  he  was  amusing  himself  by  whistling  in  reply  to  a 
blackbird  hid  in  a  holly-tree.  The  Minister  came  out  of 
the  house  and  gravely  walked  up  to  his  son,  and  said, — 

"  You  have  done  well  in  this  matter.  I  do  not  say 
that,  under  other  circumstances,  I  might  not  have  pre- 
ferred seeing  you  marry  a  wife  of  your  own  country,  and 
one  accustomed  to  our  ways  and  homely  fashion  of  living, 
and,  above  all,  one  having  more  deeply  at  heart  our  own 
traditions  of  faith.  But  your  duty  to  your  own  kinswoman, 
who  is  suffering  from  the  suspicions  of  the  vulgar,  must 

count  for  something '' 

"  But  what  counts  most  of  all,  father, "  said  the  Whaup, 
who  would  not  have  it  thought  he  was  conferring  a  favor 
on  Coquette,  "  is  her  own  rare  excellence.  Where  could 
I  get  a  wife  like  her  ?  I  don't  care  twopence-farthing  for 
all  that  Airlie,  and  a  dozen  neighboring  parishes,  may 
think  or  say  of  her,  when  I  know  her  to  be  what  she  is. 
And  you  know  what  she  is,  father ;  and  the  best  thing 
you  can  do  for  her  is  to  persuade  her  to  be  married  as 
soon  as  possible,  for  I  mean  to  take  her  away  from  here, 
and  see  if  I  cannot  break  that  sort  of  dead  calm  that 
seems  to  have  settled  over  her." 

"  The  Manse  will  be  very  lonely  without  her,  "  said 
the  Minister. 

"  Look  here,  father, "  said  the  Whaup,  with  a  great 
lump  rising  in  his  throat,  "  the  Manse  would  be  very 
lonely  if  she  were  to  remain  as  she  is  much  longer.  Leezi. 
beth  says  she  eats  nothing ;  she  never  goes  out ;  only 


348  A  DAUGHTER  Oh  h<LTH. 

that  dull,  uncomplaining  monotony  of  sadness,  and  the 
listless  days,  and  the  reading  of  religious  books.  I  know 
how  that  would  end  if  it  went  on,  and  I  don't  mean  to 

let  Coquette  slip  out  of  our  fingers  like  that,  and  I " 

The  Whaup  could  say  no  more.  He  turned  aside,  and 
began  to  kick  the  gravel  with  his  foot.  The  Minister 
put  his  hand  on  his  son's  shoulder,  and  said, — 

"  My  boy,  you  may  have  more  watchful  eyes  than 
mine  in  such  matters  ;  and,  if  this  be  as  you  suspect,  I 
will  use  all  my  influemce  with  her,  although  her  mar 
riage  will  make  a  great  difference  to  me.  " 

The  Whaup,  however,  was  not  one  to  have  his  wooing 
done  by  proxy.  During  the  remainder  of  his  brief  stay 
in  Airlie  he  urged  Coquette  with  gentleness,  and  yet 
with  earnestness,  to  fix  a  time  for  their  marriage.  At 
first  she  was  startled  by  the  proposal,  and  avoided  it  in  a 
frightened  way  ;  but  at  length  she  seemed  to  be  won  round 
by  his  representations  and  entreaties.  He  did  not  tell 
her  one  reason  for  his  thus  hurrying  on  her  departure 
from  Airlie.  It  was  entirely  as  securing  his  own  happi- 
ness that  he  drew  pleasant  pictures  of  the  future,  and  sat 
and  talked  to  her  of  all  she  would  see  when  they  went 
away  together,  and  endeavored  to  win  her  consent.  Then, 
on  the  last  evening  of  his  visit,  they  were  sitting  together 
in  the  hushed  parlor,  speaking  in  low  tones,  so  as  not 
to  disturb  the  reading  of  the  Minister. 

"  I  do  think  it  is  a  great  misfortune  that  you  are  so 
fond  of  me, "  she  said  looking  at  him  with  a  peculiar 
tenderness  in  her  eyes  ;  "  but  it  seems  as  if  the  world 
were  all  misfortune,  and  if  it  will  make  you  happy  for  me 
to  marry  you,  I  will  do  that ;  for  you  have  always  been 
very  kind  to  me,  and  it  is  very  little  that  I  can  do  in  return; 
but  if  this  will  please  you,  I  am  glad  of  that,  and  I  will 
make  you  as  good  a  wife  as  I  can.  " 

That  was  her  reply  to  his  entreaties  ;  and,  in  token 
of  her  obedience,  she  took  his  hand  and  pressed  it  to  her 
lips.  There  was  something  in  this  mute  surrender  that 
was  inexpressibly  touching  to  the  Whaup  ;  and  for  a 
moment  his  conscience  smote  him,  and  he  asked  himself 
if  he  were  not  exacting  too  much  of  a  sacrifice  from  this 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HE  TIL 

tender-hearted  girl,  who  sat  pale  and  resigned  even  in  the 
moment  of  settling  her  marriage-day. 

"  Coquette,"  said  he,  "  am  I  robbing  you  of  any  other 
happiness  that  you  could  hope  for  ?  Is  there  any  other 
prospect  in  life  that  you  are  secretly  wishing  for  ? " 

"  There  is  not,"  she  said,  calmly. 

"  None  ? " 

"  None  ? " 

"  Then  I  will  make  this  way  of  it  as  happy  for  you  as 
I  possibly  can.  And  when,  Coquette  ?  You  have  never 
named  a  time  yet." 

"  Let  it  be  whenever  you  please,"  she  answered,  look- 
ing down, 

The  Whaup  rose,  and  pulled  himself  up  to  his  full 
height,  as  if,  for  the  first  time,  he  could  breathe  freely. 

"  Father,"  said  he,  "  have  you  any  objection  to  my 
going  across  the  moor  and  ringing  the  church  bell  ? " 

The  Minister  looked  up. 

"  We  are  going  to  have  a  marriage  in  the  Manse  in 
two  or  three  weeks,"  said  the  Whaup. 

Coquette  went  over  to  the  old  man's  chair,  and  knelt 
down  by  his  side,  and  took  his  hand  in  hers. 

"  I  shall  be  sorry  to  lose  you,  Catherine  ;  but  I  trust 
you  will  be  more  cheerful  and  happy  in  your  new  home 
than  you  could  be  in  this  dull  house,"  said  the  Minister. 

"  You  have  been  very  kind  to  me,  uncle/'  she  said. 

With  that  the  Whaup  went  outside,  and  clambered  up 
into  the  hay-loft,  and  roused  up  his  brothers,  who  were  in 
bed,  if  not  all  asleep. 

"  Get  up,  the  whole  of  you  !  "  he  said  ;  "  get  on  your 
clothes,  and  come  into  the  house.  Look  sharp,  there's 
something  for  you  to  hear." 

Leezibeth  was  alarmed  by  the  invasion  of  the  Manse 
which  took  place  shortly,  after,  and  came  running  to  see 
what  had  brought  the  boys  in  at  that  time  of  night. 
The  Whaup  bade  Leezibeth  come  into  the  parlor  to  witness 
the  celebration  ;  and  there  they  were  introduced  by  the 
Whaup,  who  made  a  pretty  speech,  to  their  future  sister- 
in-law  and  they  were  ordered  to  give  her  good  wishes,  and 
then  they  all  sat  down  to  a  sumptuous,  if  hastily  prepared, 


350 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HE  TIT. 


banquet  of  currant  bun,  with  a  glass  of  raspberry  wine 
to  each  of  them.  Coquette  was  pleased  ;  and  the  tinge 
of  color  that  came  to  her  cheeks  made  the  Whaup  think 
she  was  beginning  to  look  like  a  bride.  As  for  the  boys, 
they  expressed  their  delight  chiefly  by  grinning  and  show- 
ing their  white  teeth  as  they  ate  the  cake  ;  one  of  them 
only  remarking  confidentially, — 

"  We  a'  kenned  this  would  be  the  end  o't." 

The  chorus  of  laughter  which  greeted  this  remark 
showed  that  it  expressed  a  general  sentiment.  Nor  was 
their  merriment  lessened  when  the  Whaup  cut  off  a 
very  small  piece  of  cake,  and  said  to  Leezibeth, — 

"  Take  this  to  Andrew,  with  my  compliments.  He 
will  be  delighted  with  the  news." 

"  Andrew  or  no  Andrew,"  said  Leezibeth,  who  seemed 
rather  inclined  to  cry  out  of  pure  sympathy  ;  "  ye  may  be 
a  proud  man  on  your  marriage-day,  MaisterTammas  ;  and 
ye'll  take  good  care  o'  her,  and  bring  her  sometimes  down 
to  Airlie.  where  there's  some  maybe  that  likes  her  better 
than  they  can  just  put  into  words." 

And  so  it  was  that  on  a  fresh  June  morning,  when  the 
earth  lay  warm  and  silent  in  the  bright  sunshine,  and  the 
far  sea  was  as  blue  and  clear  as  the  heart  of  a  sapphire, 
Coquette  arrayed  herself  in  white  garments.  There  was 
a  great  stir  about  the  Manse  that  morning,  and  the  boys 
were  dressed  in  their  Sunday  clothes.  Flowers  were  all 
about  the  place  ;  and  many  innocent  little  surprises  in 
the  way  of  decoration  had  been  planned  by  the  Whaup 
himself.  The  Manse  looked  quite  bright,  indeed ;  and 
Leezibeth  had  assumed  an  unwonted  importance. 

Coquette's  bridesmaids  were  the  Misses  Menzies,  and 
the  Doctor  was  there  too,  and  Lady  Drum  and  Sir  Peter. 
According  to  the  custom  of  the  country,  the  marriage  was 
to  take  place  in  the  house ;  and  when  they  had  all  assem- 
bled in  the  largest  room,  the  bride  walked  slowly  in, 
followed  by  her  bridesmaids. 

In  a  church,  amid  a  crowd  of  spectators,  there  would 
have  been  a  murmur  of  wonder  and  admiration  over  the 
strange  loveliness  of  the  small  and  delicately  modelled 
woman,  whose  jet-black  tresses  and  dark  and  wistful  eyes 


A  DA  UtiHTER  OF  HE  TIf.  $  5  , 

seemed  all  the  darker  by  reason  of  the  snowy  whiteness 
of  her  dress  and  the  paleness  of  the  yellow  blossoms  and 
pearls  that  shone  in  the  splendid  luxuriance  of  her  hair. 
But  her  friends  there  almost  forgot  how  lovely  she  was 
in  regarding  the  expression  of  her  face,  so  immovably 
calm  it  was,  and  sad.  Lady  Drum's  heart  was  touched 
with  a  sudden  fear.  This  was  not  the  look  of  a  bride  ; 
but  the  look  of  a  woman  strangely  young  to  have  such 
an  expression,  who  seemed  to  have  abandoned  all  hope 
in  this  world.  She  was  not  anxious  or  perturbed  or  pale 
through  any  special  excitement  or  emotion  ;  she  stood 
throughout  the  long  and  tedious  service  as  though  she 
were  unconcious  of  what  was  happening  around  her,  and, 
when  it  was  over,  she  received  the  congratulations  of  her 
friends  as  though  she  had  awakened  out  of  a  dream. 

The  Whaup,  too,  noticed  this  look  ;  but  he  had  seen 
much  of  it  lately,  and  was  only  rendered  the  more  anx- 
ious to  take  her  away  and  lighten  her  spirits  by  change 
of  scene.  And  now  he  saw  himself  able  to  do  that,  he 
was  full  of  confidence.  There  was  no  misgiving  in  his 
look.  As  he  stood  there,  taller  by  a  head  than  his  own 
father,  with  his  light-brown  hair  thrown  carelessly  back 
from  a  face  bright  with  health  and  the  tanning  of  tin 
sun,  it  was  apparent  that  the  atmosphere  of  the  greai 
city  had  not  had  much  effect  upon  the  lithe  and  stalwart 
and  vigorous  frame.  And  his  voice  was  as  gentle  as  that 
of  a  woman  when  he  went  forward,  for  the  first  time  after 
the  ceremony,  and  said  to  Coquette — 

"You  are  not  tired  with  standing  so  long,  Co- 
quette ? " 

She  started  slightly.  Then,  perhaps  noticing  that 
the  eyes  of  her  bridesmaids  were  upon  her,  and  recollect- 
ing that  she  ought  to  wear  a  more  cheerful  expression, 
she  smiled  faintly,  and  said, — 

"  You  must  not  call  me  that  foolish  name  any  more. 
It  is  part  of  the  old  time  when  we  were  girl  and  boy 
together.'-' 

"  But  I  shall  never  find  any  name  for  you  that  1  shall 
like  better,"  said  he. 

About  an  hour  thereafter  all  preparations  had  bee:i 


352 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETM. 


made  for  their  departure ;  and  the  carriage  was  waiting 
outside.  There  was  a  great  shaking  of  hands  and  kiss- 
ing and  leave  taking ;  and  then,  last  of  all,  the  Minister 
stood  by  the  door  of  the  carriage  as  Coquette  came  out. 

"  Good-bye,  my  dear  daughter,"  he  said,  placing  his 
hand  on  her  head  ;  "  may  He  that  watched  over  Jacob, 
and  followed  him  in  all  his  wanderings  with  blessings, 
watch  over  you  and  bless  you  at  all  times  and  in  all 
places !  " 

Coquette's  lips  began  to  tremble.  She  had  main- 
tained her  composure  to  the  last;  but  now,  as  she  kissed 
her  uncle,  she  could  not  say  farewell  in  words  ;  and  when 
at  length  she  was  driven  away,  she  covered  her  face  with 
her  hands  and  burst  into  tears. 

"  Coquette,"  said  her  husband,  "  are  you  sorry,  after 
all,  to  leave  Airlie  ?  " 

There  was  no  answer  but  the  sound  of  her  sobbing. 


CHAPTER  LII. 

HUSBAND  AND  WIFE. 

So  blinded  by  his  exceeding  happiness  was  the  Whaup 
that  for  a  little  time  he  could  scarcely  tell  how  the  rapid 
change  of  scene  and  incident  following  their  marriage 
was  affecting  Coquette's  health  and  spirits.  He  was  so 
near  her  now,  tending  her  with  an  extreme  and  anxious 
tenderness,  that  he  could  not  regard  her  critically  and 
see  whether  the  old  sad  look  was  leaving  her  eyes.  Did 
she  not  express  her  pleasure  at  the  various  things  she 
saw  ?  Was  she  not  so  very  kind  and  affectionate  towards 
him  that  he  had  to  protest  against  her  little  submissive 
attentions,  and  point  out  that  it  was  his  business  to  wait 
upon  her,  not  hers  to  wait  upon  him  ? 

They  went  to  Edinburgh  first,  and  then  to  West- 
moreland, and  then  to  London,  which  was  then  in  the 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HE  TIL 


353 


height  of  the  season.  And  they  went  into  the  Park  on 
the  summer  forenoons,  and  sat  down  on  the  little  green 
chairs  under  the  lime-trees,  and  looked  at  the  brilliant 
assemblage  of  people  there,  cabinet  ministers,  actresses, 
Gun-club  heroes,  authors,  artists,  titled  barristers,  and 
all  the  rank  and  file  of  fashion.  So  eager  was  the 
Whaup  to  interest  his  companion  that  it  is  to  be  feared 
he  made  rather  random  shots  in  identifying  the  men  and 
women  cantering  up  and  down,  and  conferred  high  of- 
ficial dignities  on  harmless  country  gentlemen  who  were 
but  simple  M.  P.'s. 

"  There  are  many  pretty  ladies  here,"  said  Co- 
quette, with  a  smile,  as  the  slow  procession  of  loungers 
passed  up  and  down,  "and  yet  you  do  not  seem  to  know 
one." 

"  I  know  one  who  is  prettier  than  them  all  put  to- 
gether," said  the  Whaup,  with  a  glow  of  pride  and  ad- 
miration in  his  face  ;  and  then  he  added,  "  I  say,  Co 
quette,  how  did  you  manage*  to  dress  just  like  those 
people  when  you  lived  away  down  in  Airlie  ?  I  think 
you  must  have  sent  surreptitiously  to  London  for  the 
dresses  that  used  to  astonish  the  quiet  kirk-folk.  Then 
you  always  had  the  knack  of  wearing  a  flower  or  a  rose- 
bud here  or  there,  just  as  those  ladies  do,  only  I  don'1 
think  any  flowers  are  so  becoming  as  those  little  yellow 
blossoms  that  are  on  a  certain  little  white  bonnet  that 
a  particular  little  woman  I  know  wears  at  this  moment.' 

"  Ah,  it  is  of  no  use,"  said  Coquette,  with  a  sigh  oi 
resignation.  "I  have  tried;  I  have  lectuied  ;  I  have 
scolded  ;  it  is  no  use.  You  do  not  know  the  rudeness  of 
talking  of  people's  dresses,  and  paying  them  rough  com- 
pliments about  their  prettiness,  and  making  inquiries 
which  gentlemen  have  nothing  to  do  with.  I  have  tried 
to  teach  you  all  this,  and  you  will  not  learn,  and  you  do 
not  know  that  you  have  very  savage  manners." 

"  Coquette,"  said  he,  "  if  you  say  another  word  I 
will  kiss  you." 

"And  I  should  not  be  surprised,"  she  answered,  with 
the  slightest  possible  shrug.  "  I  do  not  think  you 
have  any  more  respect  for  the  public  appearances  than 


354  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HE 777. 

when  you  did  torment  the  people  at  Airlie.  You  are 
still  a  boy,  that  is  true,  and  I  do  wonder  you  will  not 
sing  aloud  now,  *  Come,  lassies  and  lads/  or  some  such 
folly.  You  have  grown — yes.  You  wear  respectable 
clothes  and  a  hat,  but  it  is  I  who  have  made  you  dress 
like  other  people,  instead  of  the  old  careless  way.  You 
do  know  something  more,  but  it  is  all  got  out  of  books. 
What  are  you  different  from  the  tall,  big,  coarse,  rude 
boy  who  did  break  windows  and  rob  gardens  and  frigh- 
ten people  at  Airlie  ?  " 

"How  am  I  different?"  said  the  Whaup.  "Well, 
I  used  to  be  bullied  by  a  schoolmaster,  but  now  I  am 
bullied  by  a  schoolmistress  ;  and  she's  the  worse  of  the 
two.  That's  all  the  change  I've  made." 

And  sometimes,  when  they  had  gone  on  in  this  ban- 
tering fashion  for  awhile,  she  would  suddenly  go  up  to 
him  if  they  were  indoors,  that  is  to  say,  and  put  her 
hand  on  his  arm  and  timidly  hope  that  she  had  not  an- 
noyed him.  At  first  the  Whaup  laughed  at  the  very 
notion  of  his  being  vexed  with  her,  and  dismissed  the 
tender  little  penitent  with  a  rebuke  and  a  kiss  ;  but  by 
and  by  he  grew  to  dread  these  evidences  of  a  secret 
wish  to  please  him  and  be  submissive.  He  began  to 
see  how  Coquette  had  formed  some  theory  of  what  her 
duties  were,  and  continually  referred  to  this  mental  ta- 
ble of  obligations  rather  than  to  her  own  spontaneous 
impulses  of  the  moment.  She  seemed  to  consider  that 
such  and  such  things  were  required  of  her  ;  and  while 
there  was  something  to  him  inexpressibly  touching  in 
her  mute  obedience,  and  in  her  timid  anticipation  of  his 
wishes,  he  would  far  rather  have  beheld  her  the  high- 
spirited  Coquette  of  old,  with  her  arch  ways  and  fits  of 
rebellion  and  independence. 

"  Coquette,"  he  said,  "  I  will  not  have  you  wait  upon 
me  like  this.  It  is  very  kind  of  you,  you  know  ;  but  it 
is  turning  the  world  upside  down.  It  is  my  business  to 
wait  on  you,  and  see  that  everything  is  made  nice 
for  you,  and  have  you  treated  like  a  queen.  And 
when  you  go  about  like  that,  and  bother  yourself  to 
serve  me,  I  feel  as  uncomfortable  as  the  beggars  in  old 


A  DsijGHTER  OF  HE  TIL 


355 


times  must  have  felt  who  had  their  feet  washed  by  a 
pious  princess.  I  won't  have  my  Coquette  disguised  as 
a  waiting-maid." 

"  You  are  very  good  to  me,"  she  said,  gently. 

"  Nonsense  !  "  he  replied.  "  Who  could  help  being 
good  to  >ou,  Coquette  ?  You  seem  to  have  got  into 
your  head  some  notion  that  you  owe  kindness  and 
thoughtfulness  to  the  people  around  you  ;  whereas  you 
are  conferring  a  benefit  on  everybody  by  being  merely 
what  you  are,  and  showing  those  around  you  what  a 
good  thing  is  a  good  woman.  Why  should  you  have 
this  exaggerated  humility  ?  Why  should  you  play  the 
part  of  a  penitent  ?  " 

V/as  she  playing  the  part  of  a  penitent  ?  he  some- 
times asked  himself.  Had  she  not  forgotten  the  events 
of  that  bygone  time  which  seemed,  to  him  at  least,  a 
portion  of  a  former  existence  ?  When  the  Whaup  and 
his  young  wife  returned  to  Glasgow,  he  had  more  leisure 
to  speculate  on  this  matter ;  and  he  came  to  the  con- 
clusion that  not  only  had  she  forgotten  nothing,  but  that 
a  sombre  shadow  from  the  past  was  ever  present  to  her 
and  hung  continually  over  her  life. 

In  no  way  did  she  lessen  her  apparent  desire  to  be 
dutiful  and  kind  and  attentive  to  him.  The  Whaup, 
who  could  have  fallen  at  her  feet  and  kissed  them  in  token 
of  the  love  and  admiration  he  felt  for  the  beautiful  young 
life  that  was  only  now  revealing  to  him  all  its  hidden 
graces  of  tenderness  and  purity  and  rectitude,  could  not 
bear  to  have  Coquette  become  his  slave. 

"  And  may  I  not  show  to  you  that  I  am  grateful  to 
you  for  all  your  kindness  ever  since  I  did  come  to  this 
country  ?  "  she  said. 

"  Grateful  to  me  !  "  he  cried.  "  Cqouette,  you  don't 
know  your  own  value." 

"  But  if  it  pleases  me  to  be  your  servant  ? "  she 
said. 

"It  does  not  please  me,"  he  retorted  ;  "  and  I  won't 
have  it.'' 

"  Voyez  un  peu  ce  tyran  !  "  said  Coquette,  and  the 
Whaup  laughed  and  gave  in. 


356  4  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH. 

It  may  be  supposed  that  that  was  not  a  very  unhappy 
household  in  which  the  only  ground  of  quarrel  between 
husband  and  wife  was  as  to  which  should  be  the  more 
land  and  attentive  to  the  other.     And  indeed,  to  all  out- 
ward semblance,  the  Whaup  was  the  most  fortunate  of 
men  ;  and  his  friends  who  did  not  envy  him  rejoiced  at 
his  good  fortune,  and  bore  unanimous  testimony  to  the 
sweetness  and  gentleness  and  courtesy  of  the  small  lady 
who  received  them  at  his  house.     It  was  noticed,  it  is 
true,  that  she  was  very  quiet  and  reserved  at  times  ;  and 
that  occasionally,  when  she  had  somehow  withdrawn  out 
of  the  parlor  circle,  and  sat  by  herself  silent  and  distraite 
her  husband  would  follow  her  with  anxious  looks,  and 
would  even  go  to  her  side  and  endeavor  to  wean  her 
back  into  the  common  talk.     As  for  his  affection  for  her, 
and  pride  in  her  rare  beauty  and  accomplishments,  and 
devotion  to  her,  all  were  the  subject  of  admiration  and 
encomium  among  the  women  of  many  households.     He 
never  sought  to  conceal  his  sentiments  on  that  score. 
On  the  rare  occasions  when  he  visited  a  friend's  house 
without  her,  all  his  talk  was  of  Coquette,  and  her  good- 
ness and  her  gentle  ways.     Then  he  endeavored  to  draw 
around  her  as  many  friends  as  possible,  so  that  their 
society  might  partly  supply  the  void  caused  by  his  pro- 
fessional absences  ;  but  Coquette  did  not  care  for  new- 
acquaintances,  and  declared  she  had  always  plenty  of 
occupation  for  herself  while  he  was  away,  and  did  not 
wish  the  distraction  of  visits. 

Down  in  the  old  Manse  of  Airlie  the  Minister  heard 
of  his  son  and  of  Coquette  through  the  reports  of  many 
friends  ;  and  he  was  rejoiced  beyond  measure.  Lady 
Drum  was  so  affected  by  her  own  description  of  the 
happiness  of  these  two  young  people  that  in  the  middle 
of  her  narration  she  burst  into  tears  ;  and  a  sort  of  sob 
at  the  door  might  have  let  the  Minister  know  that  Leezi- 
beth  had  been  listening.  The  Minister,  indeed,  paid  a 
brief  visit  to  Glasgow  some  few  weeks  after  Coquette's 
return,  and  was  quite  overwhelmed  by  the  affectionate 
attentions  of  his  daughter-in-law. 

"  Surely,"  he  said  to  Lady  Drum,  the  evening  before 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HE  TIL 


357 


he  went  away — "  surely  the  Lord  has  blessed  this  house. 
It  has  never  been  my  good  fortune  to  dwell  under  a  roof 
that  seemed  to  look  down  on  so  much  of  kindliness  and 
charitable  thoughts  and  well-doing  ;  and  it  would  ill  be- 
come me  not  to  say  how  much  of  this  I  attribute  to  her 
who  is  now  more  than  ever  a  daughter  to  me." 

"  When  I  come  to  speak  of  her,"  said  Lady  Drum, 
"  and  of  the  way  she  orders  the  house,  and  of  her  kind- 
ness to  every  one  around  her,  and  of  her  conduct  towards 
her  husband,  I  am  fair  at  a  loss  for  words." 

The  bruit  of  all  these  things  reached  even  down  to 
Airlie,  and  the  Schoolmaster  was  at  length  induced,  be- 
ing in  Glasgow  on  a  certain  occasion,  to  call  on  the 
Minister's  son.  The  Whaup  received  his  old  enemy 
with  royal  magnanimity  ;  compelled  him  to  stop  the  night 
at  his  house  ;  gave  him  as  much  toddy  as  was  good  for  an 
elder  ;  while  Coquette,  at  her  husband's  request,  left  her 
fancy-work  and  played  for  them  some  old  Scotch  airs. 
By  and  by  she  left  them  to  themselves  ;  and,  warmed 
with  the  whiskey,  the  Schoolmaster  imparted  a  solemn 
and  mysterious  secret  to  his  remaining  companion. 

"  You  are  a  young  man,  sir,  and  have  no  knowledge, 
or,  as  I  may  term  it,  experience,  of  the  great  and  won- 
derful power  of  public  opeenion.  Nor  yet,  considering 
your  opportunities,  is  it  likely,  or,  as  one  might  say, 
probable,  that  ye  pay  sufficient  deference  to  the  reputa- 
tion that  your  neebors  may  accord  ye.  Nevertheless, 
sir,  reputation  is  a  man's  public  life,  as  his  own  breath  is 
his  private  life.  Now,  I  will  not  conceal  from  ye,  Mr. 
Thomas,  that  evil  apprehensions  are  entertained,  or  even, 
one  might  say,  expressed,  in  your  native  place,  regarding 
one  who  holds  an  important  position  as  regards  your 
welfare " 

With  which  the  Whaup  bounced  up  from  his  chair. 

"  Look  here  ! "  said  he.  "  Do  you  mean  my  wife, 
Mr.  Gillespie  ?  Don't  think  I  care  a  rap  for  the  drivel- 
ling nonsense  that  all  the  old  women  in  Airlie  may  talk ; 
but  if  a  man  mentions  anything  of  the  kind  to  me,  by 
Jove  !  I'll  pitch  him  over  the  window  !  " 

"  Bless  me !  "  cried  the  Schoolmaster,  also  rising,  and 


358  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETIL 

putting  his  hands  before  his  face  as  if  to  defend  himself. 
44  What's  the  use  o'  such  violence  ?  I  meant  no  harm. 
On  the  contrary,  I  was  going  to  say,  man,  that  it  would 
be  my  bounden  duty  when  I  get  back  to  Airlie  to  set  my 
face  against  all  such  reports,  and  testify  to  the  great 
pleasure  I  have  experienced  in  seeing  ye  mated  wi'  such 
a  worthy  and  amiable  and " 

Here  the  Schoolmaster's  encomium  was  cut  short  by 
the  entrance  of  Coquette  herself,  who  had  returned  for 
something  she  had  forgotten  ;  and  a  more  acute  observer 
might  have  noticed  that  no  sooner  was  her  footfall  heard 
at  the  door  than  all  the  anger  fled  from  the  Whaup's 
face,  and  he  only  laughed  at  Mr.  Gillespie's  protestations 
of  innocence. 

"  You  must  forgive  me,"  said  the  Whaup,  good-na- 
turedly. "  You  know  I  married  one  of  the  daughters  of 
Heth,  and  so  I  had  to  expect  that  the  good  folks  at  Air- 
lie  would  be  deeply  grieved." 

"  A  daughter  of  Heth  !  "  said  Mr.  Gillespie.  "  Indeed, 
I  remember  that  grumbling  body,  Andrew  Bogue,  makin' 
use  o'  some  such  expression  on  the  very  day  ye  were 
married  ;  but  if  the  daughters  o'  Heth  were  such  as  she 
is,  Rebekah  need  not  have  put  herself  about,  or,  in  other 
words,  been  so  apprehensive  of  her  son's  future." 

And  the  Schoolmaster  was  as  good  as  his  word,  and 
took  down  to  Airlie  such  a  description  of  the  Whaup 
and  his  bride  as  became  a  subject  of  talk  in  the  village 
for  many  a  day.  And  so  the  patience  and  the  gentleness 
of  Coquette  bore  their  natural  fruit,  and  all  men  began 
to  say  all  good  things  of  her. 

There  was  one  man  only  who  regarded  this  marriage 
with  doubt,  and  sometimes  with  actual  fear,  who  was 
less  sure  than  all  the  others  that  Coquette  was  happy, 
and  who  regarded  her  future  with  an  anxious  dread. 
That  one  man  was  the  Whaup  himself.  With  a  slow 
and  sad  certainty,  the  truth  dawned  on  him  that  he  had 
not  yet  won  Coquette's  love,  that  he  was  powerless  to 
make  her  forget  that  she  had  married  him  in  order  to 
please  him,  and  that,  behind  all  her  affectionate  and 
friendly  demonstrations  towards  himself,  there  lay  over 


A  DALGHTER  OF  HE  TIT 


359 


her  a  weight  of  despair.  The  discovery  caused  him  no 
paroxysm  of  grief,  for  it  was  made  gradually  ;  bu*t  in  time 
it  occupied  his  constant  thoughts,  and  became  the  dark 
shadow  of  his  life.  For  how  was  he  to  remove  this 
barrier  that  stood  between  himself  and  Coquette  ?  The 
great  yearning  of  love  he  felt  towards  her  was  powerless 
to  awaken  any  response  but  that  mute,  animal-like  faith- 
fulness and  kindliness  that  lay  in  her  eyes  whenever  she 
regarded  him.  And  it  was  for  her,  rather  than  for  him- 
self, that  he  was  troubled.  He  had  hurried  on  the  mar- 
riage, hoping  a  change  of  scene  and  of  interest  would 
break  in  on  the  monotony  of  sadness  that  was  evidently 
beginning  to  tell  on  the  girl's  health.  He  had  hoped, 
too,  that  he  would  soon  win  her  over  to  himself  by  cut- 
ting her  away  from  those  old  associations.  What  was 
the  result  ?  He  looked  at  the  pale  and  calm  face,  and 
dared  not  confess  to  himself  all  that  he  feared. 

One  evening,  entering  suddenly,  he  saw  that  she 
tried  to  avoid  him  and  get  out  of  the  room.  He  play- 
fully intercepted  her,  and  found,  to  his  astonishment, 
that  she  had  been  crying. 

"  What  is  the  matter,Coquette  ?  "  he  said. 

"  Nothing  "  she  answered.  "  I  was  sitting  by  myself, 
and  thinking,  that  is  all." 

He  took  both  her  hands  in  his,  and  said,  with  an 
infinite  sadness  in  his  look, — 

"  Do  you  know,  Coquette,  that  for  some  time  back  I 
have  been  thinking  that  our  marriage  has  made  you 
miserable." 

"  Ah,  do  not  say  that ! "  she  said,  piteously  looking 
up  in  his  face.  "  I  am  not  miserable,  if  it  has  made  you 
happy." 

"  And  do  you  think  I  can  be  happy  when  I  see  you 
trying  to  put  a  good  face  on  your  wretchedness,  and  yet 
with  your  eyes  apparently  looking  on  the  next  world  all 
the  time  ?  Coquette,  this  is  driving  me  mad.  What  can 
I  do  to  make  you  happy  ?  Why  are  you  so  miserable  ? 
Won't  you  tell  me  ?  You  know  I  won't  be  angry,  what- 
ever it  is.  Is  there  nothing  we  can  do  to  bring  you 
back  to  the  old  Coquette,  that  used  to  be  so  bright  and 


360  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HE  TIL 

cheerful  ?  Coquette,  to  look  at  you  going  about  from 
day  to  day  in  that  sad  and  resigned  way,  never  com- 
plaining, and  always  pretending  to  be  quite  content,  I 
can't  bear  it,  my  darling." 

"  You  must  not  think  that  I  am  miserable,"  she  said, 
very  gently,  and  then  she  left  the  room.  He  looked 
after  her  for  a  moment,  and  then  he  sank  into  a  chair, 
and  covered  his  face  with  his  hands. 


CHAPTER  LIII. 

THE    CHURCHYARD    ON    AIRLIE    MOOR. 

AT  last  it  occurred  to  him  thafe  Coquette  ought  to  be 
told  of  Lord  Earlshope's  death.  He  did  not  even  con- 
fess to  himself  the  reason  why  such  a  thought  arose  in 
his  mind,  but  endeavored,  on  the  contrary,  to  persuade 
himself  that  there  was  no  further  need  for  holding  back 
that  old  secret.  He  and  Coquette  were  down  to  Airlie 
at  the  time,  on  their  first  visit  after  their  marriage. 
The  Minister  was  anxious  to  see  his  daughter-in- 
law  ;  and  the  Whaup,  while  she  stayed  there,  would  take 
occasional  runs  down.  So  Coquette  was  staying  at  the 
Manse. 

"  I  cannot  get  her  to  go  out  as  she  used  to  do,"  said 
the  Minister,  the  first  time  the  Whaup  got  down  from 
Glasgow.  "  She  seems  better  pleased  to  sit  at  the  window 
by  herself  and  look  over  the  moor,  and  Leezibeth  tells  me 
she  is  in  very  low  spirits,  and  does  look  not  particularly 
well.  It  is  a  pity  she  dislikes  going  out ;  it  is  with 
difficulty  I  can  get  her  even  into  the  garden,  and  once 
or  twice  she  has  shown  a  great  repugnance  to  going 
anywhere  near  Earlshope,  so  you  must  not  propose  to 
_ro  in  that  direction  in  asking  her  to  accompany  you." 

Then  the  Whaup  said,  looking  down,  "  You  know 
she  is  not  aware  of  Lord  Earlshope  having  been  drowned, 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HE TH. 


36. 


and  she  may  be  afraid  of  meeting  him.  Suppose  we 
tell  her  of  what  happened  to  the  yacht  ?" 

44  I  am  of  opinion  it  would  be  most  advisable,"  said 
the  Minister. 

The  Whaup  got  Coquette  to  go  out  and  sit  in  the 
garden  ;  and  there,  while  they  were  by  themselves,  he 
gently  told  her  of  the  loss  of  the  Caroline.  The  girl 
did  not  speak  nor  stir,  only  she  was  very  pale,  and  he 
noticed  that  her  hand  was  tightly  clenched  on  the  arm 
of  the  wooden  seat.  By  and  by  she  rose  and  said, — 

"  I  should  like  to  walk  down  to  Saltcoats,  if  you  will 
come." 

"  To  Saltcoats!"  said  her  husband.  "  You  are  not 
strong  enough  to  walk  all  that  way  and  back,  Coquette." 

"  Very  well,"  she  said,  submissively. 

"  But  if  you  very  much  want  to  go,  we  could  drive, 
you  know,"  said  he. 

"  Yes,  I  should  like  to  go,''  she  said. 

So  the  Whaup,  late  as  it  was  in  the  afternoon,  got 
out  the  dogcart,  and  drove  her  away  to  the  old-fashioned 
little  seaport  town  which  they  had  together  visited  in 
bygone  years.  He  put  the  horse  up  at  the  very  inn 
that  he  and  Coquette  had  visited,  and  then  he  asked 
her  if  she  wished  to  go  for  a  stroll  through  the  place. 
Her  slightest  wish  was  a  command  to  him.  They  went 
out  together,  and  insensibly  she  led  him  down  to  the 
long  bay  of  brown  sand  on  which  a  heavy  sea  was  now 
breaking.  She  had  spoken  but  little  ;  her  eyes  were 
wistful  and  absent,  and  she  seemed  to  be  listening  to 
the  sound  of  the  waves. 

"  It  blows  too  roughly  here,  Coquette,"  said  he. 
"  You  won't  go  down  on  the  beach  ?  " 

"  No,"  she  said.  "  Here  I  can  see  more,  and  hear 
more." 

For  a  considerable  time  she  stood  and  looked  far 
over  the  heaving  plain  of  water,  which  was  a  dark  green 
color  under  the  cloudy  evening  sky.  And  then  she 
shuddered  slightly,  and  turned  to  go  away. 

"  You  are  not  vexed  with  me  for  coming  ?  "  she 
said,  "  And  you  know  why  I  did  come." 


36:  A  DAUGHTER  OF  11ETH. 

'•  I  am  not  vexed  with  anything  you  do,  Coquette,'* 
said  he  ;  "  and  I  hope  the  drive  will  do  you  good." 

"  It  is  his  grave,"  she  said,  looking  once  more  over 
the  stormy  plain  of  waves.  "  It  is  a  terrible  grave,  for 
there  are  voices  in  it,  and  cries,  like  drowning  people, 
and  yet  one  man  out  there  would  go  do;vn  and  down, 
and  you  would  hear  no  voice.  I  am  afraid  of  the  sea." 

"  Coquette,"  said  he,  "  why  do  you  tremble  so  ?  You 
must  come  away  directly,  or  you  will  catch  cold ;  the 
wind  blows  so  fiercely  here." 

But  on  their  \vay  back  to  Airlie  this  trembling  had 
increased  to  violent  fits  of  shuddering  ;  and  then,  all  at 
once,  Coquette  said  faintly, — 

lt  I  do  feel  that  I  should  wish  to  be  still  and  go  to  sleep. 
Will  you  put  me  down  by  the  roadside,  and  leave  me 
there  awhile,  and  you  can  go  on  to  Airlie?" 

"  Why,  do  you  know  what  you  are  saying,  Coquette? 
Go  on  to  Airlie,  and  leave  you  here  ? " 

She  did  not  answer  him  ;  and  he  urged  on  the  pony 
with  all  speed,  until  at  length  they  reached  the  Manse. 

"  Tom,"  she  said,  "  I  think  you  must  carry  me  in." 

He  lifted  her  down  from  the  vehicle,  and  carried 
her  like  a  child  into  the  house  ;  and  then,  when  Leezibeth 
came  with  a  light,  he  uttered  a  slight  cry  in  finding 
that  Coquette  was  insensible.  But  presently  life  re- 
turned to  her,  and  a  quick  and  flushed  color  sprang  to 
her  face.  She  was  rapidly  got  to  bed,  and  the  Minister, 
who  had  a  vivid  recollection  of  that  feverish  attack 
which  she  had  suffered  in  the  North,  proposed  that  a 
doctor  from  Saltcoats  should  be  sent  for. 

"  And  I  will  telegraph  to  Dr.  Menzies,"  said  the 
Whaup,  scarcely  knowing  what  he  said,  only  possessed 
by  some  wild  notion  that  he  would  form  a  league  to 
drive  off  this  subtle  enemy  that  had  approached  Coquette 

All  that  followed  that  memorable  evening  was  a 
dream  to  him.  He  knew,  because  he  was  told,  and  be- 
cause he  himself  could  see,  that  the  fever  was  laying 
deeper  and  deeper  hold  on  a  system  which  was  danger- 
ously weak.  Day  after  day  he  went  about  the  house, 
and  as  Coquette  got  worse  he  scarcely  realized  it.  It 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETII.  363 

was  more  to  him  as  if  a  weight  out  of  the  sky  were 
crushing  down  the  world,  and  as  if  all  things  were  slow- 
ly sinking  into  darkness.  He  was  not  excited  nor  wild 
with  grief  ;  but  he  sat  and  watched  Coquette's  eyes, 
and  seemed  not  to  know  the  people  who  came  into  the 
room  or  whom  he  met  on  the  stairs. 

The  girl,  in  her  delirium,  had  violent  paroxysms  of 
terror  and  shuddering,  in  which  she  seemed  to  see  a 
storm  rising  around  her  and  waves  threatening  to  over- 
whelm her,  and  then  no  one  could  soothe  like  her  hus- 
band. His  mere  presence  seemed  enough,  for  the  old 
instinct  of  obedience  still  remained  with  her,  and  she 
became  submissively  quiet  and  silent  in  answer  to  his 
gentle  entreaties. 

"  You  are  very  good  to  me,"  she  said  to  him,  one 
evening,  recognizing  him,  although  the  delirium  had  not 
left  her,  "  and  I  cannot  thank  you  for  it,  but  my  mam- 
ma will  do  that  when  you  come  up  to  our  house.  We 
shall  not  stop  in  this  country  always  ? — when  mamma 
is  waiting  for  me  in  the  garden,  just  over  the  Loire, 
you  know.  And  she  has  not  seen  you,  but  I  will  take 
you  up  to  her,  and  say  you  have  been  very,  very  kind  to 
me.  I  wish  they  would  take  us  there  soon,  for  I  am 
tired,  and  I  do  think  this  country  is  very  dark,  and  the 
sea  is  so  dreadful  round  about  it.  It  goes  round  about 
it  like  a  snake,  that  hisses  and  raises  its  fierce  head,  and 
it  has  a  white  crest  on  its  head,  and  eyes  of  fire,  and  you 
see  them  glaring  in  the  night-time.  But  one  can  get 
away  from  it,  and  hide  close  and  quiet  in  the  church- 
yard on  the  moor ;  and  when  you  come  in,  Tom,  by  the 
small  gate,  you  must  listen,  and  whisper  '  Coquette,' 
you  know,  just  as  you  used  to  do  when  I  lay  on  the  sofa, 
and  you  wished  to  see  if  I  were  awake  ;  and  if  I  cannot 
speak  to  you,  it  will  be  very  hard,  but  I  shall  know  you 
have  brought  me  some  flowers.  And  you  will  say  to 
yourself,  '  My  poor  Coquette  would  thank  me  if  she 
could.'  ' 

He  laid  his  hand  on  her  white  fingers.  He  could 
not  speak. 

By  and  by  the  delirium   left  and   the  fever  abated, 


364  A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH- 

but  the  frail  system  had  been  shattered,  and  all  around 
saw  that  she  was  slowly  sinking.  One  night  she  beck- 
oned her  husband  to  come  nearer,  and  he  went  to  her, 
and  took  her  thin  hand  in  his. 

"  Am  I  going  to  die,  Tom  ?  "  she  asked,  in  a  scarcely 
audible  voice  ;  and  when,  in  reply,  he  only  looked  at 
her  sad  eyes,  she  said,  "  I  am  not  sorry.  It  will  be  bet- 
ter for  you  and  for  us  all.  You  will  forgive  me  for  all 
that  happened  at  Airlie  when  you  think  of  me  in  after- 
times,  and  you  will  not  blame  me  because  I  could  not 
make  your  life  more  happy  to  you  ;  it  was  all  a  misfor- 
tune, my  coming  to  this  country " 

"  Coquette,  Coquette  !"  he  said,  beside  himself  with 
grief,  "  if  you  are  going  to  die,  I  will  go  'with  you  too  ; 
see,  I  will  hold  your  hand,  and  when  the  gates  are  open 
I  will  not  let  you  go,  I  will  go  with  you,  Coquette  ! " 

Scarcely  half  an  hour  afterwards  the  gates  were 
opened,  and  she  so  quietly  and  silently  passed  through 
that  he  only  of  all  in  the  room  knew  that  Coquette  had 
gone  away  from  them  and  bidden  a  last  farewell  to  Air- 
lie.  They  were  startled  to  see  him  fling  his  arms  in 
the  air,  and  then  as  he  sank  back  into  his  chair  a  low 
cry  broke  from  his  lips,  "  So  near,  so  near  I  and  I  can- 
not go  with  her  too  !  " 

One  day,  in  the  early  springtime,  you  might  have 
seen  a  man  in  the  prime  of  youth  and  strength,  yet  with 
a  strangely  grave  and  worn  look  on  his  face,  enter  the 
small  churchyard  on  Airlie  moor.  He  walked  gently 
on,  as  if  fearing  to  disturb  the  silence  of  the  place,  and 
at  last  he  stood  by  the  side  of  a  grave  on  which  were 
many  spring  flowers  ;  snowdrops  and  violets  and  white 
crocuses.  He,  too,  had  some  flowers  in  his  hand,  and 
he  put  them  at  the  foot  of  the  grave ;  and  there  were 
tears  running  down  his  face. 

"  These  are  for  my  Coquette,"  he  said  ;  "  but  she 
cannot  hear  me  any  more." 

For  a  little  while  he  lingered  by  the  grave,  and  then 
he  turned.  And,  lo  !  all  around  him  was  the  fair  and 
shining  country  that  she  had  often  looked  on,  and  far 
away  before  him  lay  the  sea,  as  blue  and  as  still  as  on 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETH.  365 

the  morning  that  he  and  Coquette  were  married.  How 
bright  and  beautiful  was  the  world  that  thus  lay  undei 
the  clear  sunshine,  with  all  its  thousand  activities  busily 
working,  and  its  men  and  women  joyously  thinking  of 
to-morrow,  as  if  to-morrow  were  to  be  better  than  to- 
day. To  him  all  the  light  and  joy  of  the  world  seemed 
to  be  buried  in  the  little  grave  beside  him  ;  and  that 
there  was  no  to-morrow  that  could  bring  him  back  the 
delight  of  the  days  that  were.  He  walked  to  the  little 
gate  of  the  churchyard,  and  leaning  on  it,  looked  wist- 
fully over  the  great  blue  plain  in  which  the  mountains 
of  Arran  were  mirrored. 

"  Why  have  they  taken  away  from  us  the  old 
dreams  ?  "  he  said  to  himself,  while  his  eyes  were  wet 
with  bitter  tears.  "  If  one  could  only  believe,  as  in  the 
old  time,  tha^  Heaven  was  a  fair  and  happy  island  lying 
far  out  in  that  western  sea,  how  gladly  would  I  go  away 
in  a  boat,  and  try  to  find  my  Coquette  !  Only  to  think 
that  some  day  I  might  see  the  land  before  me,  and  Co- 
quette coming  down  to  the  shore,  with  her  face  grown 
wonderful  and  calm,  and  her  dark  eyes  full  of  joy  and 
of  welcome.  Only  to  believe  that,  only  to  look  forward 
to  that,  would  be  enough  ;  and  if  in  the  night-time  a 
storm  came,  and  I  was  sunk  in  the  darkness,  what  mat- 
ter, if  I  had  been  hoping  to  the  last  that  I  should  se€ 
my  Coquette  ? " 


THF    END. 


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